Sworn To Remnant
by Mojo1586
Summary: As the 13th Black Crusade burns across the Galaxy, Random fate sees a host of Cadia's last remaining defenders spirited to a world unlike any they have ever seen. A world at peace, Kingdoms of progress, despite the predations of soulless monsters. Left without cause, will the Imperium take up the cause? Or will Remnant fall to the whispers of Dark Gods trailing in their wake?
1. Chapter 1

**SWORN TO REMNANT**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 1 - The Time of Ending-**

* * *

" ** _Thirteen times shall the Traitor King go forth.  
In the End Times the iron fortress shall be cast down.  
Its walls breached and its Gate forced open.  
Those that dwell beyond shall spill through it.  
The air shall burn and the ground shall melt,  
The Daemon shall lie down with the machine,  
Brother shall slay brother with fire and sword.  
And the sky-wound shall pour its malice forth.  
The Eye shall stare unblinking at its prize,  
and the Traitor King shall cross the bridge of stars.  
He shall return to finish the Warmonger's red work,  
Upon holy soil shall the fate of man be decided._"**

\- Words of the Prophet of Corrinto, Taggarath. Later accused of the high crime of Heresy, summarily executed by Imperium Authorities...

* * *

 **(Imperial Fortress World of Cadia, Segmentum Obscuris, 999.M41)**

The world of Cadia burns...

That most glorious of worlds with its populace and resources devoted to the holy art of war, that most steadfast of bastions standing vigil against the horrors of the Eye of Terror and the fell legions of Traitor and Daemon alike that called it sanctuary, was dying...

Cadia, where Vivian Stahl, lone remaining heir and Knight Apparent to the storied House of Stahl, Questor Imperialis to the Imperium of Man in service to the God Emperor, was going to die along with her family's lineage in her first true war.

 _Verdant Dawn,_ her mount, that glorious thirty foot tall Battle Engine bedecked in adamantium armor and livery the same color as the forests of ancient Terra. The laurels of its allegiance trimmed in silver inviolate across the Knight Warden's shoulder plating.

A creation of beauty that had borne generations of her ancestors into the fires of battle across a hundred worlds and a hundred wars since the days of the first Heresy itself, was going to die as well.

The blessed machinery of its construction ground to dust under the weight of Traitor forces, the heat of its plasma driven heart gone cold and silent. Glories it had won over centuries of service lost but for the brief snippets of mention likely present in some repository tended by servitor turned thralls and meaningless serfs whom existed only to steward the deeds of better men and women.

Remembered as mere footnotes in the eyes of a galaxy that would go on burning without either one of them. Consumed in the first battles of a war that, if prophecy was to be believed, would rival even the great Heresy itself in the scope of destruction, a war that she would miss.

 _'...How utterly galling...'_

The Knight Scion's delicate fingers curled about the arms of her throne mechanicum, the palm of her right hand tingling white hot in a manner more pleasurable then painful.

A response of her connection with _Verdant Dawn's_ whirring Avenger Gatling Cannon which even now felled Heretic and Mutant alike under a withering rain of mass reactive rounds in coruscating arcs of fire. Its motion and trajectory subject to her will, the weapon bound and unleashed at its pilot's behest. The motion akin to flexing a limb, dozens ended at the twitch of a psycho-somatic finger.

And how could she not feel as such? The feeling a sympathetic response born from the silvery wires threaded to neural ports surgically embedded at the base of her skull.

Gateways to her nervous system that allowed Vivian's consciousness to meld in mind, body, and soul with that of her mount, proof of her lineage, of her right to command such a force of destruction upon the fields of battle.

Towering above the broken withered lines of trench works and barbed wire fortifications, staring out at the distant sight of one of those towering Xenos pylons the Cadians valued so highly...

Vivian saw all, not with her own pitiful mortal eyes, but with the auspex sensor driven eyes of a demigod. A force of war incarnate gazing down upon its pitiful enemies with a detached sense of superiority well deserved in her mind, and she slew them with the same brief satisfaction with one might crush a particularly vexing insect.

While it could be said that her experience was a pale shadow in comparison with that of the Princeps, those blessed individuals judged worthy by the red robed priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to guide the true Titans of the battlefield, the God Machines in truth, those mighty beings that could shake worlds with their passing and devastate cities as an afterthought with their force of arms, she still of course had her bias.

Unlike the those mighty engines that raged thousands of kilometers away, god machines which required a full team of both Moderatii and Magos to operate alongside the Princep's will, this feeling was hers alone to experience.

Hers to revel in...

The bond she bore with the ancient machine spirit of her mount, the power she could feel coursing the Imperial Knight's servo driven limbs. That raging pulse of its reactor heart beating in time with her own, all of it hers.

Vivian alone could feel the steady stride of her _Verdant Dawn_ 's legs as clearly as she could feel her own two limbs. Each stanchion a potent weapon in its own right with the mass and tread to crush a chimera troop transport underfoot. Already the signs of her march could be seen across the battle lines, flattened and burnt out hulls, the crys of fleeing heretical chaff echoing between every quaking step the Knight Warden took.

Her other senses blazed too, in concert with the mighty weapon of war she commanded, the weapon she became.

A tickling sensation ran up her extremities underneath her pilot's suit, pinpricks of returning enemy fire, of auto gun rounds and heavy bolter fire alike, rebuffed by the flickering panorama of energy that comprised the Knight's Ion Shield. Played out in sacred sympathetic communion, her ears were a demigod's ears, picking up the screams as foes by the dozens fell like wheat before the scythe.

Together they were _Verdant Dawn_ , the Emperor and the Omnissiah's wrath incarnate, a lord of the battlefield.

Together, they were triumphant, destroying all in their path.

 **Together, _she_ was...**

 _-"...ranging too far ahead..."-_

The rasping mechanical whisper of an intruder echoed through the sanctity of the manifold. The desperate pleas of Sacristan Trager, last of those sworn to the noble Freeblade House of Stahl, caretaker to Vivian herself and moreover to the blessed duty of maintaining her mount.

His voice made harsh by time and the vox emitter long ago implanted in place of his throat, and raggedly distorted by the smoke and data corruption of the battle playing out beneath her notice.

 _-"...My Lady, any further and you risk exposing yourself. I recommend falling back, rejoining Lords Canus and Atra in the Lance..."-_

"Your suggestion is noted and appreciated, Darius."

Vivian voxxed the reply in a clipped cool cadence that clearly unlined her irritation. Her words a jagged fiery spear through the communications, broadcasting just how ' _appreciative_ ' she was at being interrupted in the midst of battle.

"Your focus however should remain fixed on your task, assisting the ground forces. _Not_ in interfering in the matters of your betters, do I make myself understood?"

 _Verdant Dawn_ sounded its war horn in unsubtle agreement, her true fist clenching and the massive Reaper Chainsword her mount carried in its offhand limb revving at the same moment with a roar that carried for kilometers around, shattering the eardrums of those closest.

-" _Of course, Lady Vivian. My apologies."-_

The young Scion gritted her teeth at the familiarity laden within the title, the ease that it passed between them.

Darius may have aided in raising her after their homeworld burned in the wakes of the Kraken, her Father's shameful disgrace, and their subsequent exile to the Imperium's many battlefields, but he was _not_ her caretaker, not now.

And what's more she despised the reason for the stolid man's clear lapse in judgement.

He expected them to die, suspected the battle already lost, and grieved that she herself might be counted among the fallen. The gall of a servant, however loyal...

 _-"Good fortune to you. May the Omnissiah guide your sword, and see your enemies fall before your mighty tread. So let it be.."-_

"Do your duty, Sacristan. _Verdant Dawn_ hungers, and war calls me to feast."

She ended the connection with a stray thought impulse before her wizened servant could utter reply, before he could sense the worry tainting her anima through manifold.

Her mount could sense it however, to her momentary shame. It still hungered for more kills, more glory...The howls of its bestial spirit echoing within her mind, turning her focus to the task at hand.

She graciously allowed the great demi-Titan to execute its desires upon the ranks of mutants below, stomping them to paste. Venting her displeasure in the form of another salve from the hissing hull mounted Melta-gun affixed to the Knight Warden's chest, waves of energy turning corrupted flesh to crimson steam.

 _-"Ahhh...Finished rebuking the serf, are we?"-_

Vivian scowled, the joys of fighting once again soured by another intruder sounding in her mind, this one far less welcome than Trager had been.

Strong, youthful, and hearty where the Sacristan's had been rasping and mechanical, the voice of Sir Atra of the Storied House of Krast was one used to speaking down to his inferiors, taunting his equals...

-" _Or was he rebuking you? I must say it was rather difficult to tell for certain."-_

 _Verdant Dawn_ roared her unspoken anger at the insult to the cloudy strewn heavens above, where the flashes of warp fire and lighting reigned supreme over any natural phenomena. Ponderously coming about with its own lumbering grace towards the direction of _Mordred's Humility,_ Atra's own mount and no more a mislabeled creature than Vivian had ever seen.

The Knight Gallant's stocky form, bedecked in the crimson livery of House Krast that demonstrated its close loyalty to the Scions of sacred Mars, and a few more nonstandard trophies of gold and more ornate providence than Vivian felt strictly appropriate.

True symbols of foes conquered and glories earned she could appreciate. _Verdant Dawn_ bearing more than a few of its own, garnered over centuries of campaigning and the host of battlefields it had walked in boisterous service.

Atra's gilded war machine on the offhand stank of something far less noble, and far more gaudy in aspect.

 _-"Well, regardless. I would think the noble firebrand of House Stahl above the bleating demands of mere servants."-_

She could almost see the pale aquiline features of her fellow pilot, twisted in gleeful disdain, dark eyes shining with wicked mirth from beneath a shock of dark plaited hair.

 _-"Though I suppose when one must beg and scrape for scraps of glory on her knees, one takes advice as freely as everything else."-_

 _"_ My Sacristan does not speak for me, Peacock!" Vivian reveled in the stunned anger she could feel in the man through the formation's connection at her defiance, her mount proudly answering the _Humility's_ bleating war cry with one of its own. "And neither do you, whatever pomp or grandeur might possess you to think otherwise!"

 _+"No, he doesn't, but I do. Now silence this shameful inane posturing, both of you."+_

Vivian, and very likely Atra in the embrace of his own Throne Mechanicum, winced visibly at the piercing command of Lord Canus, master of our current formation, bestride in his own towering Mount, _Stalwart in Grace._

The Knight Paladin, larger in scale than either the _Dawn_ or _Humility,_ bearing similar livery to his Family member if distinctly lacking the same graceless fanfare of his lesser, marched into view. The thunder of its cannon a rebounding cadence piercing through the song of battle. Great blooms of dust thrown into the air with every salvo, masking the death cry of dozens in its contemptuous wake.

 _+"Bickering like the children you are, rather than the warriors you should be. Focus!"+_

Vivian pulsed her acquiescence at the rebuke, Atra a moment later after some marked hesitation that nevertheless screamed through the connection we all shared.

 _+"Stahl, the Sacristan speaks out of turn, but also speaks truth. Rejoin the Formation post haste. Today is not a day for glory, but for bleeding the Arch-Traitor's forces for all we can take."+_

"Y-Yes, my Lord." It took all her discipline not to growl her true feelings over the connection, closing her eyes and tearing _Verdant Dawn_ from its course with almost painful effort. "But...But should we not advance further? Before more of the enemy pierce through our lines and reach the Kasr?"

 _+"Kasr Rantik is already falling, young one. We stand now only as a show of defiance. Best we stand together, I think._ _ **All**_ _of us."+_

He aimed that remark towards Atra true, though Vivian was not spared its fury or His.

Canus was angry as well, furious even, but he knew his duty, both to the Imperium of Man and the Priests of the Red Planet. Both he and his Mount ached to bleed the foul forces of Chaos for all they were worth, to carve their mark into the foe before the end.

An impulse she could understand all too well as a fresh line of tanks bearing traitor colors rolled forth across the barren fields on bloodied treads churning choked earth.

 _+"For the Omnissiah, for the Emperor! May we make our mark deeply, and the let the Traitors hear our anger. Ave Imperator!"+_

Hardly the inspired rallying cry Vivian might've preferred, but far from the worst, given the outlook of the day.

 _-"Ave Imperator!"-_

Both young Knights answered in concert, their enmity forgotten for the moment in the glorious rush for battle, such a departure from the ceremony and boredom that conquered every other aspect of their lives.

The chance to go to war. Oh so wonderful war...

 _'Still, to die here unmarked...'_ Vivian viewed the decrepit war torn land, even detecting the heat blooms of burning ramparts that marked the Kasr's demise in the distance, _'...how utterly galling.'_

* * *

Life in the Guard was a simple thing in theory, so long as one followed the most important and simplest of decrees that is...

Long as a Trooper at least did that much, it was likely no Commissar or superior officer, however demanding, would find offense.

Unless of course you were really trying, of course...but then you were probably just dead, and no one cared regardless...

First rule of the Imperial Guard, the constant regulation that is understood by soldiers across a thousand thousand worlds, from the most backwards Feral World savage to the most uplifted noble scion plucked from his decadent Hive Spire...

A simple directive that had guided the fighting men and women of the Astra Militarum, even through the harshest and most horrifying of battlefields...

A law that would continue to do so as long as there was at least one hapless bastard still standing, lasgun clutched in hand and a prayer lauding the Emperor of Mankind fresh on their lips...

 ** _"Go forward!"_**

Trooper Lux Brindle of the 8th Cadian Shock Troopers responded to the barking commands of his Commissar instinctively, with the eager determination any proper Cadian would show.

He'd been expecting the order in truth, the battle worse than lost if the bedraggled defenders merely stood by to await the charging horde.

The stemming of the Heretics Armor reinforcement had presented a rare opportunity to the besieged, the rogue Knight Engine's advance allowing the rest of the company to do the same in their stomping wake.

If those Guard forces remaining wished to hurt the enemy, truly hurt them, this was their moment...

Already clambering and kicking his way up the muddy sides of the trench walls alongside dozens of similar flak armored bodies, careful to keep the worst of the gunk from fouling his own weapon and leaping to his feet.

Striding amidst storms of las and bolter fire criss-crossing their way through the air mere meters above his and the others' heads if passage made all the clearer against the gathering storm clouds above, a path wreathed in slaughter.

All souls moving as one at speed through the crater and corpse laden wasteland towards the next winding network of charred barricades and smoking defenses so graciously cleared of Traitors by the God Machines warring above.

At least cleared for the most part that is...

Some few misshapen dregs and wretches in scavenged armor pulled themselves burnt and bleeding from smoking crenellated earthworks. Desperately struggling to rally amidst the carnage wrought on them from above, but of course that is where Troopers like Lux came into play, where they excelled even.

To go forward in all things, always.

If the Trooper got lost, you go forward... If the Trooper loses your way, you go forward... If the Trooper falls away from your squad, you go _towards_ the enemy...

 _That_ was the important distinction, cause that'd be where you could do the most good. Where you'll find your mates again more likely than not if everyone followed the rules too.

It didn't matter that he was a youth barely above a prissy whiteshield, that this would be his first war and more than likely his last.

Trooper Lux Brindle was a Cadian, and all that meant between a childhood in the underbelly of the sprawling Kasrs surviving the denizens lurking in the shadows of those great Hives, harsh adolescence in the youth armies training constantly against his fellows and cruel instructors, and the myriad of Throne damned tests both physical and mental to prove himself worthy of even being considered for the vaunted ranks of the Kasrkin.

Suffice it to say that brutal war and the expectation of a rather violent end were pretty much bred into the genes and marrow by this point.

Still, that didn't mean he was going to sell his life to the spiteful frakkers easily, f _ar frakking from it!_

"Take this opportunity men of Cadia, heroes of the Imperium all! This chance to bleed the forces of the Arch-Enemy for every step they dare take on the sacred soil of _our_ world!" Junior Commissar Catelin cried out from her position at the head of the charge atop the trench walls.

Clutching both revving chainsword and bolter in hand she stood uncaring of the enemy fire screaming around her, dark hair blowing about a youthful unblemished face all sharp angles and smooth marble outlined by las-fire, resolved confidence shining in violet eyes most of her men shared.

Now that was proper Cadian stock right there, sculpted by the finest bloodlines the Fortress World had to offer. Forged by the demanding rigors of the Schola Progenium to stand above normal men and women, to lead them from the front. To be an example to them all in this life and the next, Emperor willing...

"Remember, even during our darkest hour, The Master of Mankind watches over us all, guiding our hands! His Will is ever strong, we shall not fail in his sight!"

" _THE EMPEROR PROTECTS...!"_ The whole whole trenchline roared back the answering hymn on ragged tgroats, the Commissar raising her sword high towards the disparate ranks of the enemy across the killing fields.

Her face twisted in a rictus mask of righteous holy fury and zeal that would've done the Holy Saints adorning the walls and windows of the chapels proud.

 _'...Certainly a damned sight better to look at then her superior, especially after that first attack...'_

A rakish grin tugged at Lux's scarred lip, made all the wider as the battle fervor and uplifting call to arms took them all. Raising flagging spirits and fanning the fires of zealous vindication, and considering the situation the bedraggled remnants of the Shock Trooper's company were up against that alone in itself was a miracle.

Miraculously, the Commissar's clipped voice somehow managing to carry itself above a heady mix of chanting calls issuing forth from the Traitor lines that made Lux's ears ache. Audible even above the whizzing crack of ionized air drowned continuous stream of heavy weapons fire and artillery, the grinding tread of tanks, and even those booming steps and bellowing cries of the Titan God Machines warring above their heads.

"Remember, the Emperor watches us this day, his watchmen of the Gate! In His name, for His glory, _WE FIGHT!"_

 _"AVE IMPERATOR!"_

The call rose up from every throat along the line including his own, spurring those few Traitor forces still standing and not in the process of fleeing back towards their kin, to start firing back.

Troopers beginning to fall in cursing screaming heaps, brought low or cut apart by las and autogun fire to tumble into the mud at their feet either going forth to meet the Emperor or currently well on their way.

But for every man cut down, a dozen more leapt into trenches or skirted over hastily erected barricades to carve their vengeance into those forces besieging their world personally.

Blood flowed, both on the ground of his dying world and in his veins, heart pounding with the intensity only the rush of battle could provide, tempered by faith and skill. This was where he belonged, this was what he'd been born and remade for.

Always moving forward...always.

..."Throne, well aren't you a looker!?"...

Lux snapped his rifle up to his cheek just before hitting the trench, taking that split second to focus in on a pair of beady eyed mutants with horns and far too many eyes. Breathing back his fetid disgust even as he felt the telltale prickling warmth of an enemy shot graze passed by his helmeted head, pulling the trigger and grinning as the creature that had fired the shot fell back minus most of its bulbous head.

"Well, least you were, hah!"

It's fellow barely having time to cry out what was no doubt some merciful plea to its dark gods before he'd hurtled over the lip of the trench and drove his bayonet into its neck with the force of his fall, dragging them both to the muddy ground in a tangle of limbs like some underhive dive brawl.

Of course, back then it had all been about getting through the day, finding the next meal, even if there had been some guilt in leaving a poor codger to bleed in the pipe works over some piss stinking ration blocks.

Here was an enemy Lux could feel good about hurting, a welcome change surely. The trooper grinning through his exertions, twisting the blade's edge, driving it deeper through thick layers of tainted flesh and fat.

"Got you! You ugly son of a... _uwagh_!?"

To the young trooper's stark surprise however, the frakker just wouldn't seem to falter. Even with plasteel stuck in its throat and life blood seeping away into the muddy dirt it fought him like a stubborn grox.

No, even grox knew when to frakkin' die!

Gurgling growls welled up from the sucking orifice that should've been its mouth, the abomination throwing its broad scale coated arms and thrashing fiercely with surprising inhuman vigor.

Surprising enough to force its way on top of its attacker in a fevered last stand, dirty clawed hands scratching across the surface of Lux's flak armor and helmet, carving deep furrows but blessedly holding under the onslaught.

Desperately, Lux fired with abandon at extreme close range once, twice, three times in rapid screaming succession. The odor of sour cooked meat filling his nostrils as he blew out the mutant's throat and lower jaw with searing flashes of heat that sent scalding pain across his arms and face, but finally putting an end to the struggling once and for all.

Unfortunately when the monstrous being expired, its muscles gave way and all resistance with it, impaling itself further on the steaming lasgun and crushing the gasping Trooper beneath its sheer bulk and dead weight.

Lux couldn't breath, fingers scrabbling over the soiled leathers and scattered bits of plate that made up the mutant's equipment, unable to find purchase or leverage.

Frak, he was gonna die on his back crushed by some mutant.

Never had he thought it'd end like this, not in all his years scraping and fighting for every scrap of honor and prestige an ex-Kasr rat could hope for.

Maybe falling in glorious battle fighting a traitor champion as hordes of maidens weep at his passing, sure. His teeth deep in the ugly Frakker's eye like any proper Cadian would hope for.

To go out doing any less, now that was just disappointing, and thank the Emperor it was not to be...

"Trooper Brindle, hardly the time to be carousing. Don't you agree?"

Lux breathed in deep as the weight was drawn from his chest, gasping for every piss scented gulp like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

A moment later he took note of the pair of grim carapace armored Storm Troopers, Kasrkin in truth, at his side, already moving with drilled efficiency towards the next fight, their bulkier Hotshot Las-guns held at the ready. Armarment that could punch through tank armor given enough charge, and liquidate flesh with ease.

Before him heaved the petite form of Junior Commissar Catelin herself, chainsword in hand, its teeth choked liberally with mutant gore.

Insanely enough, that was the dirtiest part on her, the rest as pristine, as one could be in a battlefield like this one. A feat meanin she wasn't covered head to toe in dirt, grime, and blood like everyone else in sight.

With a snarling huff, she kicked at the fallen mutant carcass with her booted heel, frown never leaving her lips.

Heh heh, likely the most beautiful thing Lux had ever had the grace and fortune to witness in his short stint at life. And what's more she wasn't done, not by far.

"Zealotry is to be commended, but not at the cost of sense. So teaches the Scholam in it's wisdom." The Commissar concluded her sermon succinctly, stepping away as the Trooper before her stared in open mouthed awe. "Now stand and retrieve your weapon, Guardsmen. You're useless to me without it."

Lux merely nodded along dumbly, at least until the clearing of an agitated throat spurred him to his feet, hands already moving to wrench his Las-rifle's bayonet clear of the mutant's neck and stand at attention while his Lady Superior moved on to rally the other survivors who remained fit.

Far more than had been expected, far less than he would've liked...those not seeing to their more wounded comrades.

Unfortunately cleanliness and proper Cadians hadn't been the only casualty of the charge, he noticed with a swearing scowl.

Lux's helmet, already overlarge given the usual standards of Imperial Guard uniform sizing and mass production, had been reduced to a mangled ruin hanging by a few strands of ragged leather. A loss, but the only way to make up for it would've been to grab one off one of the plentiful corpses.

Not the worst thing he'd have done truth be told, far from it, but he wasn't feeling particularly ghoulish. Not today...

And the loss of protection was a small price to pay for clear hearing, especially in these close confines. He noted with a pragmatist's resignation.

 _'If somethings gonna pop me in the head, think I'd rather it be quick and get it over with...'_

* * *

From there the fighting continued same as it had for the last few hours, meter by slogging meter, section by bloody section...never ceasing, rarely slowing...

The Commissar leading from the front the entire way as the bedraggled Imperial Forces secured their latest ground in her wake.

Trench fighting was in itself a bloody affair, at least that had what Lux had always been told by veterans and instructors. And they had been far from mistaken in that regard.

A brutal mess of bright flashes, screams both human and inhuman alike, firefights that felt as if they'd lasted hours but could only really have been matters of minutes if that, though to be fair it was at least better than the first charge in Lux's opinion.

The walls of the trenches made for passable renditions of the Kasr Underbellies where he had come of age, the smells and enclosing walls almost enough to make him feel at home. Wasn't that why the recruiting sweeps had picked him up, half feral and half starved in the midst of their frequent raids?

It was that comfort that allowed him to face the enemies of man grinning as he was, even if it did put off a few of the men alongside him.

They weren't smart enough to see he was just as afraid as the rest of them, just as desperate. Lux was just better at hiding it...weakness got ya gutted in the pits by the other rats, body left to rot in the dark.

So he kept smiling, lying to the whole of the galaxy even as it burned.

 _'Ave Imperator indeed, at least I...hmm?'_

Something had splashed down a top his head, little more than a drip really that he'd hardly have noticed if he'd still donned his helmet, spreading a brief stint of warmth across his scalp.

Still, it drew his attention in the brief moments of rest as he ejected a spent power pack, letting it fall steaming into the vitae soaked muck, raising his head to the sky.

There, just showing through the roiling mess of crimson clouds, shined the Eye of Terror. Larger now than it had ever been before, pockmarked with what could only be the distant outline and flashes of distant void war.

Lux had expected it, had grown up knowing the same disgust and sense of trepidation felt by every proper Cadian at its baleful glow. But the Gate to Hell wasn't what drew his focus, no.

That was reserved for the vortex slowly forming amidst the clouds above shining far closer. Crimson lightning pulsing with the crash of not so distant thunder, and at its heart, looking back at him...and in his soul it truly felt as though it knew him...

"By the bloody Throne of Terra." He whispered the words, chest suddenly tight as all the moisture left his throat, unable to tear his gaze away. "What the frakking hell...?"

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Segmentum Unknown, Date Indeterminate - Beacon Academy)**

"...is _that_?"

Ruby Rose ignored the question even as it passed from her lips, staring wide eyed out their dorm room window, the portal affording a grand view of the curious weather pattern swiftly forming above the Emerald Forest.

Roughly over the spot temple she and the others had fought their way towards during initiation at the start of the year, or close enough to it, having appeared after a deafening boom with such force that it had rattled the windows and sent her sister Yang barreling into her in an attempt to shield her from some attack.

After more than a minute of pounding over-pressure, startled screams, and rattling furniture that had seen Blake's bunk bed topple to the floor, everything had ceased.

Ruby extricating herself from Blake's scattered sheets, taking it upon herself as Leader of Team RWBY to try and come to terms with the situation. To understand, and now she couldn't look away.

A storm of clouds as dark as Grimm matter, moving with purpose in a way that seemed wholly too sinuous. A dozen gigantic serpentine monsters writhing about in a tangled web of elemental forces too massive for her to comprehend, and at its core an eye...or at least it looked like one. Burning crimson with a pupil of burnished gold that made her head ache the longer she stared.

It was looking at her, she knew that...she knew so much, sensuous whispers caressing her senses and twiddling clawed fingertips through the meat of her soul, promises made in pacts of blood, echos of things beyond the reckoning of mortals, and so much more...and...and...

The young Huntress shook her head out, the strange lapse all but forgotten in a sudden need to act, to do her duty.

She was scared, terrified of this strange phenomenon, and that meant that others no doubt would be as well. The Grimm would be drawn, she had to be ready.

Something was coming, and she had to be prepared to face it. And to do that, she needed her baby, she needed _Crescent Rose..._

* * *

- **END**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Here it is, my long winded attempt to start a crossover fic between RWBY & Warhammer. Was originally supposed to be longer with more scenes detailing other characters and whatnot (Namely the Sister of Battle & Sanctioned Psyker). Thing is I've had this on the backburner for a long time and I thought I might as well post what I had.**_

 ** _It's a bit ambitious, especially given what I thought might happen and all the other stuff I'm working on. Scattered Space Marines, maybe a Titan, Chaos Influences, general confusion._**

 ** _If people want to see more, I can give it a shot. Who knows, either way I hope it was at least somewhat enjoyable. - Mojo_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 2 - The Trials of Faith -**

* * *

 _ **The absence of faith is the mark of the weak.  
The absence of faith is the mark of the heretic.  
The absence of faith is the mark of damnation.**  
\- extract from "The Stern Codex", recorded writings of Sister Ephrael Stern of the Adepta Sororitas. _

* * *

**(Imperial Fortress World of Cadia, Segmentum Obscuris, 999.M41)**

"Blood for the Blood God! _Blood for the Blooooooo_... _aRrGh_!"

 _ **"...I deny the Ruinous Powers, and will not suffer the Witch, the Mutant, or Heretic to live..."**_

Acolyte Delphine, Sister of the Adepta Sororitas, intoned proudly through her Vox's amplifiers amidst the roar of weapons fire, the screams of her Sisters, and the whooshing howls of the purifying flame and its victims.

Picking her targets with practiced care honed by years in the schola and the constant vigils of her Sister Superiors, she loosed another controlled burst of fire from her bolter, the weapon recoiling in her grasp with a force that would've shattered her wrist if not for her Power Armor.

As it stood, three more cultists were torn apart bodily by the explosive tipped rounds as dispassionately as one might prune the thorns from a rose. The sacred targeting cogitators of her helm's display instantly moving to acquire more targets, more impious souls in need of swift judgment.

 _ **"...I fight in the Emperor's name, for I am His instrument...!"**_

She leapt to the side to avoid a super-heated gout of crimson tinged plasma fired from a thing that had once been human, once of the Imperial Guard, but no longer.

Just another foul servant of the Ruinous Powers, another Heretic...another Target.

Shockingly blue eyes blinking away flickering heat alerts from her helmet's augers, Delphine rolled into a crouch, firing off another quick salvo that put the Traitorous Guardsmen down before he could perhaps slip behind the defenses to catch one of her sisters nearby unawares. Each engaged in their own struggles of fire, bolter, and chainsword.

 ** _"...My life, His sword and His shield, with which to defend the sacred dominion and soul of Mankind...!"_**

Autogun rounds clattered and tore across the glistening black enameled surface of her sacred wargear like raining hail. Pinging loudly off the side of her Sabbat-pattern helmet as cultists, sprinting towards the Sister of Battle with no thought to consequence, fired with wild abandon in vain attempts to slow her advance.

Yet the thrice blessed battle plate and her careful adherence to the rites of maintenance held true, her faith rewarded. Not one round managing to penetrate to the vulnerable flesh beneath. Raising her bolter to her shoulder, she depressed the trigger, arms jarring with the bone-jarring recoil, calmly placing her shots center mass of the once-men as she'd been instructed in the Schola until her weapon clicked dry, starved of shells.

The foe still lived, and would need to be dealt with. Still, the Emperor rewards with victory, she who counts her ammunition. Best to save her weapon's fury for the majority, as she was unsure of when the next resupply would come, if ever it did.

But that was of no concern presently.

Singing a hymn of praise to the Emperor seated upon his Golden Throne, Delphine sprinted among the scattered horde, turning ones head into a cloud of bone fragments with a close range shot and nearly impaling another as her fist drove into his sternum. The servos of her plate whirring their sacred screeching cadence as they bestowed upon her body the strength to do the Emperor's will to it's fullest extent, caving in the foul Heretic's ribcage.

 ** _"...A blessing upon the Faithful, a scourge of the Unclean and Impure...!"_**

The last tried to run in the face of her righteous action, its meager courage failing it utterly. Its faith in its idolatrous heathen gods feeble in the face of one of those truly devoted to His will.

Delphine calmly reloaded with the mechanical precision drilled into her very bones by years of drill and dispatched it without another glance, putting a bolt in its back and moving to the next grouping displayed on her threat sensors.

Quite unable to help the smile building across full lips unused to the act. Her sisters had been right, War truly was the purest and most satisfying form of worship.

 _'Praise be!'_

Her mind exalted His glorious presence, for in this moment she felt truly guided by His hand for perhaps the first time since her days of sitting in the Schola chapels, her first experience in hearing His call to arms, guided by His will as she smote his enemies. _'Praise be to the Ruler of Mankind!'_

If she were to fall this day then so be it, her deeds an echo of his divine plan that would sound throughout eternity. There was no doubt that the war she now fought in would shake the Imperium...no, the whole of the Galaxy itself.

To fall while facing the hated Warmaster and his damned legions, that was a fate she could bear. A fate that would see her to the Emperor's side with her head held high. Her soul inviolate.

 **"While vile mutants still draw breath, there can be no peace!..."**

One of Delphine's sisters, a valiant Seraphim, screamed down from the skies on the blessed wings of a smoking jump pack several meters distant with bone crunching momentum, knocked from the sky by sheer volume of fire and a single moment of ill fortune.

Even so, she still crushed the horned skull of a beastman under her heel with the impact, chainsword tearing the throat from another in a cleaving riposte born of hate, the weapon sputtering, choking on the sheer gore clogged within its mechanisms. Bolt pistol roaring in her grasp, each shot promising death for yet another enemy of Him on Terra.

But more of the foe were coming, more were _always_ coming. Delphine herself too far to do more than cry out a warning. One that fell on deaf ears...

 **"While obscene heretics hearts still beat, there can be no respite!"**

The nameless sister struggled on valiantly against impossible odds, singing the Catechisms of Hate with every breath amplified by her helm's casters, even as she was born down to the blood slick ground under sheer weight of numbers, clawed hands and stabbing knives tearing at the vulnerable seals of her armor, piercing to the flesh beneath.

" **W-while faithless traitors still live...there...there can be no...forgiveness...!"**

Delphine didn't see the act, braced against what she knew would no doubt follow, but knew enough the sudden deafening rapid fire boom of a krak grenades and the sudden rain of unholy entrails and other viscera to guess.

There would be no mourning, there was none necessary where a simple prayer to honor her courage and guide her spirit would suffice. The Seraphim had done her duty proud to the end.

No life given in the Emperor's name was ever wasted. So it was said, so let it be...but first Delphine herself had more mutants, heretics, and witches to slay. And slay she would, until either she herself fell to join the fallen Seraphim, or Cadia was pure of taint once more. Whichever came first...

 _"Sister Delphine!"_

One of her fellow sister's called over the vox, Sister Superior Mariana and her squad, fighting with sacred chainsword and bolter in hand against cultists ten times their number. Mariana herself burning the corruption away with her heavy Flamer, the whistling screech of Promethium heated air as it rendered tainted flesh into hissing steam and turned Heretics to screaming pyres was a prayer all its own, executed in faith.

 _"You are falling behind the main line, Sister! Steel yourself! In these numbers, the Emperor does not care how the Heretics burn, only how many we can give to the flames in his name. Praise be!"_

 _'Praise be...'_

Delphine nodded while reloading, taking the rebuke and redoubling her efforts to rejoin the squad carving their bloody path towards towards the flagging lines of Guardsmen still fighting in the trenches. And fighting they were indeed, each man taking untold numbers of the enemy with him as they fell.

But fell they did, and soon enough the Commissar, a mousy little Cadian that seemed far too young for the role, was calling to her company for a retreat to the fallback positions along the fire blackened, blood stained ridge from whence they they had come. Stumbling as a las round sliced across her shoulder only to be supported on the arm of another guardsman lacking his helmet, clear terror writ across youthful features as he stared back.

At first the Sister wondered if there was some sort of lack of faith pervading the woman's senses, almost taking it upon herself then and there to end the cowards' lives before they could bring more shame upon their pathetic souls and those of their men, the Commissar most of all.

Such a lapse in discipline from one of the Schola Progenium's chosen, those meant to serve as guides for the fervor of the Emperor's forces, even from a young cadet.

Such a lapse of character and faith was inexcusable, deserving of swift judgement...carried out by the hands of those more worthy.

Then she realized why they ran, saw the hulking figures charging forward from the mists that obscured the enemies support lines, twisted horns wrought in the image of their daemonic masters, ceramite plates of armor adorned in the blood of the Imperium's innocents and a foul twisted script that made her eyes ache just to look upon. The character seeming almost to write with their own corrupted intent, worming their way into her thoughts only to meet the defiance of a mind girded in faith.

Traitor Astartes, Space Marines that had fallen from the Emperor's grace by their own rebellious defiance, driven back into the great Eye to languish in its corrupting embrace for all eternity. Until now...

Just the sight of them alone was enough to chill the young Sister's blood, and send Guardsmen who had already weathered the forces of madness without flinching fleeing before them in abject terror. The feeling instinctive, a mixture of awe at their destructive capability, and dread at that same potential lost to the forces of Chaos.

Delphine knew their colors, had been tasked with memorizing the various signs of those in service to the Arch-Enemy. She knew of the twisted scions of Lorgar, the fallen sons of a legion that had once proclaimed itself as the Emperor's most faithful. Their Leader clearly in evidence, perhaps the architect of this very assault, followed by a choir of both his bastard brothers and a host of mortal heretic chaff to sing their unholy praises.

A dusky skinned face marked liberally with the foul signs of mutation, vestigial horns sprouting from what had once been fine patrician features but now only bore the curse of the warp, eyes glowing with aetheric fire as clawed hands clutched at a staff topped by an eight pointed talisman wrought in blood soaked iron and brass...

 **" _Word Bearers_! Stand firm, Battle Sisters! Stand firm for His Imperium! _Ave Imperator!_ In His name! To _VICTORY!_ "**

Sister Mariana spurred the charge, giving voice to a wordless righteous fury that had clutched at the hearts of the faithful, naming the foe upon which to vent the the Order's wrath. Sisters disengaged from their lesser foes, screaming hymns to Him on Terra as they ran to smite this most hated of foes, the Sister-Acolyte making to join them only to have her path barred by more gibbering cultists seeking to drag her down by sheer weight of numbers.

Little more than an irritant to one such as herself, but also likely what saved Sister Delphine's life in the end.

The Astartes reacted quickly to the oncoming servants of the God Emperor, moving to level their bolters with a speed far greater than their gene-bulked physiques and bulwark solid wargear might have suggested, cackling as armored fingers pulled at ancient well-worn triggers.

Three Sisters slain in half as many seconds, their holy human forms, trained and honed by years of purification and sacred calling, now shattered by warp-corrupted bolter rounds that gauged through the sacred battle plate of their armor before detonating in blooming swathes of gore. Erased leaving only charred meat and gristle in their wake.

 **"Do not shirk! Do not falter! Do not Relent!"**

Their sacrifice was not without meaning however, Sister Mariana managing to clamber to higher ground and bring her flamer to bear on the closest of the monstrous transhuman warriors.

A brute sporting ancient power armor adorned in what could only be the flayed skin of the innocent, some still bearing tattered traces of clothing or tattoos to denote their allegiance. Pages of script fluttering in mocking parody of the purity seals adorning the Sister's own armor, sigils perhaps meant to invoke the protection of one of his heathen gods...

If so, then they were as pitiful as the Powers he'd sold his Soul to serve, consumed as he was in a welter of purifying flame.

Astartes or no, blessed with a host of gifts that turned him from mere man into as pure an aspect of war as one could perhaps be, if a corrupt one. Perhaps a creature that had once walked at the side of demigods in the wake of Horus' great betrayal, he still died...and by the Throne he died badly, flailing about pitifully and shrilly screaming his hatreds as gene forged flesh blackened and his armor cracked and teamed, cooking him within its shell like some great crustacean...

His screams abruptly silenced forever by the rapid deafening boom of his bolter's magazine cooking off at once, a wonderful sight to any of the Faithful. Only then did Mariana relent, halting the howling flames much to Delphine's secret dismay.

While she would claim no true vices, such things the purview of the lesser and the unclean, she could not quite deny a fascination with the sacred fire.

 _'Glorious...'_ She imagined she could feel the backwash of heat, even through the protective layers of her plate.

It's true beauty, its ability to scour away the darkness of an unremitting galaxy, the purity of it...

Her cheeks warmed momentarily at the sight of it burning traitors, just as they had at the executions of heretics brought to the convent to suffer the judgment of the Emperor's brides. That feeling alone gave her pause, feeling...wrong, but prayer would have to suffice, if she lived so long. She doubted she would.

That momentary distraction cut short by a booming explosion of wicked force that knocked her and many of her from her feet, alert claxons wailing impotently. Runes springing to life across the visor of her helm, her bolter flying free of fingers suddenly numb, an inexcusable lapse, one that would have seen her fulfilling rites of penance under the eyes of the Drill-Abbots back in the scholam.

But this was no mere exercise, and the creature before her now wiped all thought of penance from her mind.

The leader, grinning with a smile filled with teeth filed to jagged points, marched across the battlefield towards our crumpled line through fields of fire and death as one might stride down a busy hive street.

 _"Truly? Is this all the Corpse-God's brides can muster, hmm? A final pitiful gasp in the dark as a world burn around them, as it must, as the Pantheon demands?"_

One Sororitas tried her best to feebly claw at his feet and halt his progress, her leg missing from the thigh down, the catechisms of Blessed Saint Keeler on her lips.

The Astartes proselytizer barely noticed, her efforts only to be crushed like a wriggling bug beneath his boot with a wet * _squelch*_ and a squeal of abused metal before he marched on.

Eyes fixed keenly on Mariana who stood defiant, the visor-clad eyes of her helm unyielding and unshakable. Her only emotion the burning hate of one faced with evil, the righteous anger of one viewing a servant of the Arch-Enemy.

 _"Your Sisters across the face of this world are dead. Your pitiful mockery of a Saint is dead. And here you all stand, screaming your feeble worship to the heavens above, hoping with all your heart and soul to be noticed by your Emperor."_

Mockingly, he looked up at the welter of warp spawned lightning and blood tinged storm clouds that raged above us, the distant stars of warships dying in the vast void flashing, every so often for moments before fading, just as the lives of the crews that toiled at their helms.

And that strange new force, building and taking shape in the skies above this battlefield, that great burning eye gazing down upon faithful and damned alike. Judging all, its light reflected in the soulless orbs of the Astartes, a smile that made Delphine's skin crawl just to look upon splitting a scared and pitted face carved apart by eons of war and debaucheries unfathomable.

 _"Know He does not hear you, Mortal. Just as he never heard us. Despite our love, despite our Father's devotion and the worlds we brought into compliance in His name. But the Pantheon takes notice, the true Powers see all, and will carry your souls...!"_

 **"Silence puppet of Heresy!"** Mariana screamed a vox-distorted cry of denial, her weapon roaring to life and screaming its fiery hatred to consume the false prophet where he stood. **"Your misbegotten lies shall find no purchase here!"**

That should've been the end of it, the host of such Heresies burning to ashes in the flames of righteous judgement.

In Delphine's inexperienced mind how could anything else be so? Light triumphed over the darkness, despite such sacrifices, conviction would carry the day...

So of course she was at a loss for words as the Word Bearer strode from the conflagration, shrouded in etheric energies, guttering flames barely licking at the parchments and skins affixed to his armor to tower over Sister Mariana. The Sister of Battle, a woman honed by dozens of engagements and bearing the marks of all of them, seemed little more than a child in the face of such a creature, barely standing to his armored chest.

 **"E-Emperor, protect _your_ loyal servant in her hour of ne...Agh?!" **She barely had time to utter the litany, hefting her Flamer for another burst when her whole body shuddered as the spiked prongs of the staff head cored through her battleplate an out the back of her spine, her feet kicking feebly in midair as the Astartes drew her close. " **The strength...of...of the Emperor is Humanity, and the strength of H-Humanity...is...is..."**

 _"Determined aren't you, little Sister?"_

His gauntlets, shaped into a set of wicked claws, deftly plucked at the seals of her helm, gently drawing the obstruction away to reveal the sisters scarred visage, dark ebon skin made pale by shock, blood pouring from trembling lips. Too much blood...

 _"Such passion. You would have made a fine convert to the true faith."_

"M-My...My Emperor...ah!" Mariana rasped, her voice somehow made clear to every Sister despite the Chaos of Battle, echoing through our hearts and minds. More of the Astartes foul sorcery no doubt, but none of those still alive could bear to turn aside. Their leader, their champion, struggling with all she had to bring her weapon to bear one final time, the pilot light of her flamer hissing weakly... "The Emperor...p-protects..."

 _"No, sweet ignorant child...He does not."_ The Astartes crooned his blasphemies in a voice sweet with honeyed malignity. His calm expression slipped but a moment as the Sister spat weakly, not quite able to hit his flesh, merely speckling the ceramite coating his chest, barely standing out against the crimson of his wargear. _"He will never know of your sacrifice, your life one of billions to be offered for the glory of the Dark Gods. Fade now, and let the knowledge of our victory guide your spirit to the Denizens of the Immaterium."_

His burning gaze strayed to the gyre forming above the battlefield, that hateful crackling aperture staring down at the portrait of war and carnage below dispassionately. Sister Superior Mariana of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, blessed servant of the God-Emperor of Mankind, died in that moment as she followed the gesture, her last sight that of a sky being torn open by the baleful forces of the hated warp.

A hateful thing, foul, corrupt...and the Champion of Chaos spread his arms wide in open adoration.

" _So let it be!"_

Just being in proximity of the Warp-spawned phenomenon set whispers of things better left ignored tingling at the back of the young Sister's mind as she fought to free herself, paralyzed like the others unable to resist the Astartes foul influence, or was the Astartes...but the warp-thing itself?

Images of places and sights she'd never witnessed flashing like decayed pict feeds across her awareness, a lunar body shattered like glass, dark monstrous shapes baying for the blood of man like the foul Tyranid Xenos-breed...a fortress-castle the like of nothing she'd ever seen, let alone imagined?

A world untainted...a world besieged...

No doubt some attempt by this... _Creature_ to influence her thoughts, foiled by the unyielding certainty of faith and devotion. Those images quashed through prayer, focus, and the desire to see the foul Sorcerer brought low, but still she couldn't help but spare a glance even so...

Sending the Sister's now limp form flying with a dismissive flick of his staff, the Sorcerer turned to regard his flock of mortals, mutants, and Astartes, focusing on one in particular. A young woman, with hair the color of blood and eyes a soulless black to the very pupils, shining from a visage so pale she might've been a corpse. Lean of body, dressed in an ornately woven tunic the same dark as her gaze and jingling with the weight totems and sewn through with devotional scripture hung with the fangs of Daemons.

She seemed almost delicate, but Delphine could smell the taint within her, more by instinct than any true sign. The servants of the Arch-Enemy were as varied in form as they were in deed, and all deserved little more than the flame or the sword.

" _Claret, dear. Remember this moment. The unerring strength of true belief, despite ignorance. Ignorance we must cast aside without hesitation, all the better to serve the will of the Powers."_

"Of course, Lord Viridis." She bowed reverently as one might a servant to a beloved master, acknowledging his notice to the jealous contempt of those around her. "May their gaze ever be on our actions, lighting the path to truest communion. So let it be."

 _"So let it be."_ A Mortal, beholden an Astartes, especially one of this abomination's vile ilk...spouting his nonsense...sipping form the font of such poison...

Though something felt inherently off about this woman, something more, something wrong...

Delphine however couldn't bring herself to care for some twisted apprenticeship. Too busy stumbling her way over broken landscape and bodies, intent on the fallen form of Mariana, the vortex's spell broken by the shock of the woman's brutal murder. The weight of her armor crushing, to resist such oppressive powers taxing the young woman in a way she had never known before, a weight on her very soul, one that might have crushed a weaker spirit outright and dragged on her even now.

She fought it, bitterly, her hatred granting her strength, even as she knew her fellows fell short. Armored women, stalwart defenders of the Imperium of Man, reduced to standing or laying prostrate, unable to tear their gaze from the sway of sorcery. Their murmurs filling the vox, inane mutterings of Kingdoms burning, seasons changing...Sister far older and far more experienced.

 _'How? How then do I stand resolute? How do I alone resist...!?'_

 _-"Stand firm."-_ A voice whispered in her ear, foreign, yet...so right, in her mind's voice, but something was... - _"You must stand firm, Sister!"-_ So petulant, so assumptive, yet she forgot the little voice in an instant.

The memory of it burned away, replaced by resolve.

 **No**! Delphine crushed those doubts before they could give birth to questions that might weaken her resolve. She stood, so thus she must act, that alone was what mattered. Reaching her fallen commander.

Lying still against a backdrop of a burning planet, of brave defenders of faith and decency falling to the sheer number of the unclean, the unworthy...even in death, the Sororitas still defiantly clutched at the handle of her Heavy Flamer, even as the life drained from her veins to pool on the ground beneath her. The Fleur De Lys tattooed across her cheek almost lost amidst the grime and gore streaking her slackened features.

If the Sister hadn't known better, she might've thought Mariana was sleeping. Blood stained purity seals fluttering limply in the harsh ashen breeze, their litanies lost in the crimson and soot, indecipherable.

Yet it mattered little, Delphine knew the words as intimately as she knew herself, their meaning branded into the marrow of her being and existence utterly and completely. And with their comforting recitation on her lips, she commended the fallen champion's spirit to Him on Terra, a woman who had been her guide now forever at the side of the Golden Throne.

There was Certainty in that, not Peace, never Peace. Such a concept was not for one such as her...

Her soul, and those of Delphine and her sisters, were girded in far more than simple warplate, armed with far greater than mere sword and bolter. They were the instruments of the God-Emperor's divinity, His will made manifest in the wider galaxy. Against the horrors that dwelt among the darkest stars and devilish of hellscapes.

It was the Emperor's enemies who stood before her. And as the Sister Novitiate took up Mariana's heavy flamer, the pilot light flickering to life in time with the warmth of conviction and fervor that spread throughout her being, she swore that it would be the Emperor's enemies that fell this day, even if doing so consumed her in the act.

As long as at least one Sister breathed, her duty to the Emperor continued.

 **"Only in death does that duty end."** First one step forward, than another, and another after that. Each growing steadily easier as she focused her spirit on the flame, becoming it, seeking the purity of purpose and focus. **"Face me, Heretic!"**

 _"Oh dear me, another one?"_ The monster, Viridis, had taken notice of her, the slightest stirrings of a frown creasing demonically influenced features as eyes that had seen the fall of civilizations and the birth of nightmares widened. Shocked despite himself at the sight of a lone young woman standing defiant over the corpse of one he'd so callously cut down. " _She resists the Lady's Gaze...curious. That should be..."_

Again his eyes drove skyward, as though Delphine were beneath his notice.

 **"In the name of the Emperor, I deny you! Spawn of Lorgar!"** The words came easier, fervor boiling away the weakness in her limbs, exhaustion burning away. She was as the flame, inviolate, burning brightly so as to drive away the darkness. **"Heretic, Mutant, Sorcerer...Traitor!"**

 _"Such pretty words, and all so pointless."_ Viridis chuckled, a sound like snapping cobblestones or the rumblings of distant mountains. An inhuman sound, for an infuman individual. " _You have spirit, Child_ _. Kneel and find yourself blessed by Gods who will actually listen. Not some tormented corpse screaming into the darkness with no eyes to see how far his crumbling Imperium has fallen."_

His hangers-on tittered and cackled, twisted malformed things that they were, all except for Claret who stood apart, a flicker of trepidation crossing her youthful countenance. Viridis ignored them all, holding out a welcoming hand towards the stalwart Sister, gesturing to those around her that stood by enraptured by the light of the strange demi-Eye.

 _"Imagine it._ _Divinities who will recognize your efforts, reward your triumphs. Faith given meaning, given purpose..."_

 _**"Lies!"**_

Promethium spewed forth in a torrent of howling flames that burned hot enough to render the muddied soil to charred glass, Viridis scowling as an armored hand swept out before him, sorcerous energies redirecting the flames away from himself and...shockingly enough, Claret. His acolyte stepping forward with her hand moving towards a crooked dagger only to be held at bay by her Master, sent running into the madness to vanish. Her form lost in the flames.

One survivor among his coterie. The others, the mutants and the sycophants, his zealous pack of beasts, brayed and howled as they perished in agony.

Their screams a benediction, their suffering her devotion, as was the only truly fitting way a Sister of Battle might exercise her faith.

A faith far stronger than this False Prophet's faltering promises of damnation. Her actions had meaning. And what's more, they inspired what remained of her fellow Sororitas. Many staggering as if released from some enforced nightmare slumber, still speaking but no longer was it the inane ramblings of the possessed, no...no longer...but a promise.

A prayer to He who would aid them, benediction against the foul machinations of the Xenos, the depravities of the Mutant, and the insidious scheming of the Heretic.

A prayer on the lips of every Sister as they charged across the field, hatred in their eyes, zeal in their hearts...

And so they died...but more importantly, so did the Heretics and the foes of He on Holy Terra...

 _'Praise be...'_

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey all, hope you enjoyed my attempt at writing a Sister of Battle. Seeing as much of their character in battle is screaming prayers and denials at the enemy, not too difficult though I'm still on the fence as to how good it wound up. Same with the Apostle Viridis, hate the Word Bearers, but they make decent villains for the Sororitas.**_

 _ **Feel free to let me know among other things you're hoping to see, things I got wrong. Was actually surprised this got as many look-ins as it did and the support was a real motivator.**_

 _ **Hopefully should have the next chapter out in short order, seems to be a trend with this one that I write big chapters that tend to work better on their own. Next should be the final 'Setup' with the Fourth finally getting Imperial boots on Remnant. Perhaps Space Marine boots (Oh yeah, definitely Space Marine boots)**_

 _ **Yeah...Remnant is in trouble. - Mojo**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 3 - The Start of Change -**

* * *

 _ **To be Unclean  
\- That is the mark of the Mutant  
To be Impure  
\- That is the mark of the Mutant  
To be Abhorred  
\- That is the mark of the Mutant  
To be Reviled  
\- That is the mark of the Mutant  
To be Hunted  
-That is the mark of the Mutant  
To be Purged  
\- That is the fate of the Mutant  
To be Cleansed  
\- For that is the fate of all Mutants**  
-Extract from a Training Chant, First Book of Indoctrination_

* * *

 **(Imperial Fortress World of Cadia, Segmentum Obscuris, 999.M41)**

 _-"Wretch, join once more with the Communion! Immediately!"-_

Reeds of pain scoured forth as Alberic's booming psychic scream pierced Nell's mind like dragging blades across a board, her gaunt face contorting as long nailed fingers crusted with dirt and glazed in spittle grabbed tight hold of her bedraggled copper colored curls. Pulling tight, so tight, irritating the raw induct nodes and ward scars concealed along her scalp...

Tearing glazed hazel eyes away from the distant sight of the valiant young Sister of Battle sprinting her way across the battlefield, eager to meet the Heretic Astartes Champion alongside what remained of her fellows. New weapon in hand, her thoughts devoid of fear and filled with benedictions to the Emperor on Terra's glory.

She would likely no longer require Nell's help to shield her mind from the baleful storm's mesmerizing effects. A shame, it had been good to help.

 _'Risky, far too risky...'_

If they somehow survived and it were discovered she'd even touched to mind of a Bride of the Emperor, let alone wearing her, even if it was to help...Nell shuddered to think of the excruciation they would inflict on her before she was finally allowed to die. But she couldn't have resisted even if she'd wanted too, which she had...kind of, in a way. She hadn't made herself obvious.

It was just her mind, Sister Delphine of the Adepta Sororitas, had been so pure of thought. Her soul unbound yet chained in a way Nell had never experienced before...but that was a distraction, just like the Soldiers, and the Cultists, and even the young Knights in their noble God Machines...all of it so _loud_.

Feelings and expressions, lusts and wants, senses mixed atop senses of minds both foul and virtuous...

Nell had to shut it out now, focus, then the pain in her skull would ebb, if only for the moment. The whispers would cease, and all would be quiet once more for a time.

But all was not quiet, Alberic saw to that...

 _-"Now, wretch! I feel you wavering!"-_

Another spike of agony, a hot needle piercing the delicate meat of her brain, forcing her small frame to buckle inside the voluminous tanned and dirty robes as legs lot all strength and her body seized. Dirtying the uniform yet further in the grime and muck of the battlefield underfoot, the cloth frayed and worn.

 _-"Open yourself, grant me what meager power you can offer!"-_

 _-"Of course, Alberic...!"-_ More pain, always more pain, my mistake amplified. An obvious slip, born of distraction, so many distractions. The whispers, oh yes the whispers. All laughing now, laughing as I hurt... -" _O-Of course, Primaris. My deepest apologies."-_

Once more opening herself to the roiling currents of warp energy surrounding the battlefield, of which there were plenty, Nell relented. Slaving focus and power to the will of her Primaris and the Communion at large.

Weathering the momentary sense of displacement, her awareness extending beyond that of those known to other mortals, the Blunts.

Those blessedly bereft of the Wych-sight, their minds free of the taint of mutation. Much like the pair of young Guard watching the display nervously with mixed expressions of disgust and incomprehension at being so close to the 'muties', their Major of similar mind. They didn't see...

"Your skills are needed Psyker, the front requires aid! What's the Frakking holdup!" The Guard Commander all but threw the portable vox-caster at his second, spitting curses at Nell's Primaris. "Control your pets, or those maniacs will be the least of your concerns!"

"Of course my Lord, of course..."

Alberic's grip tightened, his sending more insistent now. He would be angry, he was always angry, but what did Nell care?

In that moment, the young psyker saw more than even the trio of curious minds locked within their mighty war engines, bonded to their fierce prideful spirits...stomping away at the mutants and heretics beneath in puddles of messy crimson that painted their adamantium hulls, squish squish **_squish_**...

 _'Focus now, focus...'_

Immediately, her concept of self, her ego, bled from her physical form. Joining with that of the five other distinct individuals in sense, thought, and purpose. No longer individuals, instead a communion of souls... _the_ Communion, a gathering of many to form one concentric whole to better utilize their accursed gifts.

All of them burning brands that showed clearly in the ether like stars, bound together by gossamer thin trails that linked them to a presence that shone with a radiance greater than that of the others, if paling before that of Nell herself.

An egotistical prideful light that glowed ever more brightly to conceal the jealousy and fear lying beneath from the awareness others. A weakness of the spirit, guarded by thin engrams of stubborn misplaced pride and cruel arrogance.

 _-...Flashes of a woman holding him in her needle sore arms...An early life lived in the Underhives of a distant backwater world devoid of light, guiding vermin to defend his meager possessions...He owned this district, it was his. Curves wanted him, the other bruisers in his slum wanted to be him...Flesh smacking against flesh, delighting in their helpless screams as the pleasant tingling burn of skimmed Obscura dulled the voices in his head...Pleasure, killing with his rats, his minions, his friends...Running, screaming, chased by daemon offworlders encased in golden armor. Monsters that looked like females, soulless, cruel, their hounds coming ever closer...Smoking brands gracing flesh, pain that seared fragile nerves with sigils of warding against the Spirits...A young man howling in the depths of the Black ships where only cold mind-dead Servitors and the soulless harlots stood to hear...Power, authority once more, but delicate, threatened by one of his charges, a girl of all things, different than the others...Wyrdvane...-_

That word, Wyrdvane, so much fear behind it...?

This was Alberic's being in its entirety. His innocent joys, his secret fears, his shameful vices...all jealously guarded, but Nell saw. Nell saw it all, she couldn't help it, not when he was _so_ loud.

His mind held no secrets from her, no matter how he struggled to hide behind opaque veneers of mental defense.

The Primaris hated that fact, and thus hated her, just like all the others. Calling Nell names, hurting her flesh, grabbing her hair even now...

-" _There, that's better. Maintain your focus properly, Wretch, or I will see you censured if we survive the day."-_

The telepathic voice called once more, and the young psyker both felt the grip on her scalp vanish.

Watching the balding rail thin man in the ornate ward covered robes of his station push her mortal body none too gently aside through the eyes of the others including those the man himself. Tossed to the ground like a doll until she was dragged up by two others already in the midst of Communion. Their eyes were glazed and empty, yet with the foul might of the warp filling them their frail bodies were easily able to hoist her meager form back to her feet.

Both little more than puppets to the Primaris Psyker's dominating will, their power slaved in supply to his as a Guardsman might keep spare cells for his Lasgun. The same scene played from behind their eyes, different angles, different heights, varied sensations...

The displacement familiar, the pain and abuse familiar as well. It had always been this way, even before Nell had been taken aboard the Black Ships.

Such things were of no concern now however, as Nell was no longer Nell, not really, she was the Communion.

A being guided by the will of one, power directed as that soul saw fit, a small group among the madness of the wider war, but a potent threat nonetheless. Bolts of aetheric lighting crackled from fingertips and the heads of staves clutched in trembling wizened fingers, lashing outwards to tear deep furrows in the world's crust and blowing whole scores of the enemy into chunks of mutated flesh and charred gristle.

Screams were cut short from throats that had suddenly fallen to spontaneous bouts of combustion that consumed the target utterly. Bodies popped like bloated sacks as nerves were suddenly flooded with forces they'd never been meant to handle, or torn limb from limb by unseen hands in gory displays to the sickened horror of all those watching.

Even those that saw the source of their death could do little to prevent it, whole squads of raving madmen charging the robed figures screaming and reduced to ashed beneath their killer's ill fitting boots.

Reality warped by the terrifying powers of the Wych kin, the mutant, the Psyker...

All feared the Communion, even its own allies in the Guard, and normally such displays would be closely monitored. But with the Commissar and slain and his Aide Catelin indisposed further along the battle line, the enemy throwing waves of screaming blasphemes and horrific monstrosities at Cadia's finest, there was little recourse.

The court of Knight Titans could drive back the worst of the Traitor armored forces, but they were but three demigods against an unstoppable tide, and with the burning of Kasr Rantik far behind them, the great artillery strikes that had marked the outset of the battle had fallen into bitter silence. The Communion was necessary, its powers needed.

She was the Communion, but she was also Nell, a piece of her anyway.

Separated from the amalgamation wreaking havoc in spirit, even as her frail physical form trailed behind the others. Shoved along he forced march by Guardsmen trying not to soil themselves at the thought of making contact, of touching her. Thinking themselves tainted, and perhaps they were.

The young Psyker's mouth speaking the chorused chants carried in perfect synchronous tone with the others of the squad. The same intonations, the same accent, the same voice from different mouths...her soul watched on, apart from the choir.

This gave her perspective that none realized, even Alberic who was too busy enjoying the wanton slaughter to notice the youngest of his choir's split. As long as she provided the same amounts of energy as the others to fuel his rampage, a meager effort truth be told, then what did he care. No, his concerns were minor, devoted to spilling the blood of as many enemies as he could, of making them fear him.

As such, he was often blinded to his own actions, Nell noticed.

Mutants and Heretics against the God Emperor fell in great numbers that was true, swept aside by the might of the Primaris and his excesses, but many Guardsmen locked in combat were caught in the conflagrations as well. Unfortunate casualties, servants of the Throne unable to escape, and though Nell tried her best to subtly redirect Alberic's attentions, she couldn't save them all.

She felt them die, could hear the echos of shock and terror at the betrayal. And white hot tears fell from glazed eyes the color of tree sap. Or so she'd been told, she couldn't remember ever seeing a tree before...

 _-Trooper Barrick, burned along with the mutant he was disemboweling, the last sight he saw before his eyes burst that of his own flesh like melted wax.-_

 _-Corporal Trost, weeping as the chanting monsters passed him by, not quite registering the charred hole through his flak chest piece, the remnants of a bolt of lightning that had left him fused to the hill of ravaged corpses behind him.-_

 _-Engineseer Boraxus, his strange sectioned off mind screaming obscenities in the binaric cant of Sacred Mars, hacking away at twisted abominations with cog headed ax and servo-arm until sheer weight of numbers drove him of his piston powered legs and into the blood smeared dirt. Both he and his killers burnt together in a pyre that cared little for things such as friend or foe.-_

The Major should have stopped this, but he was afraid, Nell could feel it in his thoughts. He didn't want to die, and as sickening as it was, the Psyker abomination and its wych-kin ilk were the greatest defense he had. So he allowed the indiscriminate slaughter, so long as the old man kept it at least somewhat confined to the enemy.

What did it matter? Those Troopers were likely dead anyway.

So wasteful, so gruesome...and so very _loud._

The whispers about Nell's soul growing in volume with every death, every scream, every curse. Rejoicing in the violence and cackling at raw displays of utter mayhem.

She had to wonder if every battlefield was like this? Why would people ever fight if this was what was brought about?

Warp spawned predators swam about the Aetheric tides of the field, drawn by the strange ritual taking place above and cavorting in its majesty.

Worse still, they spoke to her, offering terrible gifts, power to keep Alberic and his like from ever hurting the young woman again, and all it would take was a simple surrender that would steal so much more.

 ** _-"PlEaSE LittLE oNe...EmBRACe ExcEss...EmBrace thE BloOd...EmBracE ChANGe...EmBraCe Eteeeeernity..."-_**

Such promises were common enough, especially to one such as her, and for now easy enough to dissuade. The Whispers liked her, coveted her, and above all wanted to control her, to wear her as their own. So Nell denied them, steeling her mind and repulsing the shapeless horrors her senses, even those attuned by the aether, could not begin to fathom. Vast creatures of ageless malice and horrifying intent.

Sadly her refusal did little more than turn their vile attentions elsewhere.

 _-"More, give me more...something comes...NO, resist fool! Resist!"-_

It was too late.

The Communion faltered in its implacable advance, the gestalt consciousness reeling as the weakest of its number, succumbed to the Daemons. Pascal, a thin wiry boy years younger than Nell herself, and ill prepared to resist the demands. His star burning bright in a sudden screaming flash punctuated by confusion and desperate cannibalistic terror before guttering out like a candle, consumed by...by _Something._

That Something opened what had once been Pascal's eyes, the previous weepy blues replaced by the compounded vision of an insect, facets gleaming with a malignancy that had witnessed the entropy of civilizations and the slow deaths of billions. A mouth that had ceased its chanting now screamed forth a terrible inhuman chattering that destroyed what teeth still remained in his skull, seeing strange twisted mandibles growing in their place.

A hand swiftly turning to chitinous claw reached for Nell's swaying body. Its desire plain, its want palpable...

 **"Deeeeeeeeeeeath, giiiiive meeee Deaaaath!"** It's voice was a keening wail that sounded of despair and the deaths of innocents in wars long passed.

And so the Cadians did, opening up on the Daemon thing with their rifles, used to dealing with such abominations this close to the Eye of Terror. It's small childish body ripped apart by overlapping fields of lasfire as the creature that had been Pascal crumbled howling to the ground, its twitching remains burned to ashes at a look from the Primaris who spat vehement curses at the loss of a valuable source of energy before moving on as if nothing had happened, sparing the child not another thought.

And so they numbered five...

Candella was the next to fall, the pinch faced woman simply collapsing, her Soul burned out by Alberic's excess. Her frizzy fire colored hair literally giving itself to the flame, what held of her form swiftly torn apart in a spectacular discharge of her remaining energy.

Now there were four...

Then Horst collapsed, downed by a pair of slug shells that had buried themselves in the meat of his thigh and gut. His mind severed swiftly from the shared connection, but not before Nell's body cried out in sympathetic agony, her leg and side feeling like a burning poker had stabbed her clean through.

None of the Guard desired to carry him, his mouth flecked with crimson spittle as he begged in the language of his home world, pleading. The Major pulled a laspistol and executed him, at Alberic's insistence so that he might not lose himself and present a danger. What was left of his spirit harness by the Communion in a gout of vengeful screeching fire that burned through the plating of a Chimera Troop Transport covered in runic symbols that made Nell's head ache just to perceive with any senses, consuming those cursing souls trapped within.

Three souls left, Nell's brightest of all...

A brilliant flare of illumination spread forth across the field like sunlight, stemming from the direction of where the Sisters had been fielding their final desperate offensive. As bright as it was however, it oozed a cruel intent through the skeins of the Empyrean, enough to send ripples of cold shooting through the young girl's soul, putting the Whispers in a joyous tumult and sending rivulets of vitae spilling from Nell's nostrils.

The Brides of the Emperor were dying...valiantly in battle against a hated foe, but dying all the same. Terribly too.

Sorcerous energies permeated the air about the landscape, all centering on the heart of the strange tempest of psychic provenance. Those forces flowing slowly but surely into the body of the Apostle Viridis like a stream, the Word Bearer having changed even in the short time Nell's attentions had been divided.

As though the Champion of the Dark Gods' body were expanding to better accommodate the incoming power like a vessel, crimson inscribed power armor heaved and bulged against the impact of his ongoing transformation and against limits it wasn't meant to hold. Dusky features, once a mask of corrupted patrician beauty, were now wholly and utterly demonic. Eyes burning like coals from within a face swiftly reshaping itself into more a bestial armored maw and fur.

His soul was changing, an apotheosis of self that would grant the creature he was fast becoming enormous power, fueled by the storm which in turn drew upon the energies of the battle.

And such powers extended well beyond such meager physical changes.

Coronas of prismatic shifting luster expelled from the head of that twisted staff struck forth without warning, guided by the Sorcerer's foul will. Those struck, even with glancing blows, suffered greatly as flesh rebelled against reason and genetic legacy. Women once the ideal of the human form reduced to gibbering horrors of writhing tentacles in place of strong limbs, bony protrusions and spikes tearing forth from rents in armor, screaming mouths bending and breaking into shrieking blood soaked beaks. Strong legs that had born the weight of duty turned to an arthropod's chitinous feet or a slug's slimy mass dissolving blessed wargear.

Many simply perished, burned away by the shock of the warp spawned transfiguration, the lucky ones. Those that survived fared far poorer, their minds unable to bear such a deep violation, wills breaking in sheer disgust at the sight what they had become reflected in their Sisters' panicked gazes. Nell could feel such things, her mind aching in sympathy.

The strongest, as they viewed the act, took it upon themselves to end their own lives, tearing throats out with clawed appendages or thumbing the activation studs on krak grenade or melta charges. Others fell to the madness, the ravenous hunger urging them to attack, and were slain under their former Comrade's own swords and bolters as the chaos spawns they now reflected in appearance and deed.

 _-"Strike at the true enemy, the Dark One, the False One, remember and avenge...!"-_

Head splitting under the strain, Nell reached out with a subtle hand towards some of those not yet slain by their hand or that of others, her Aetheric spirit interacting with what shreds remained of the warrior they had once been.

Once they might've abhorred such an intrusion, their minds shielded by zeal and faith. but such things were but broken memories and scattered recollections of barely intact sanity.

They could not resist her guiding presence, Nell's mind simply clearing the fog of madness about their consciousness, long enough at least to grant them focus and a measure of what they once were. Prayers of focus and benediction dredged up from the depths of broken ego and persona, engrams of faith to light the way for their souls.

 _-Souls like Sister Valencia, once a proud woman embodying the spirit of the Emperor in every word and deed, now brought low in the form of a hulking mass of several eyes, bulging misshapen muscle, and a pronged beak with too many tongues. The voice in her head, the one that spoke louder than the screams and broken promises, was telling her something...order, she needed to enforce order...faith...the enemy still stood...Sisters?...FrOm ThE LiGhtNinG, ANd THe TemPEst, EmPerOr DeLivEr uS!-_

Viridis' growing maw twisting in anger as his Spawns turned from the handful of surviving untainted Sororitas, many of the hulking shapes bleeding from rents torn by their former Sister's bolters and chainswords, and instead lunged for the Sorcerer in one last act of defiance. It was foolish, their charge halted by a wave of daemon-spawned lighting that cored through the beast-women, reducing misshapen bodies to jellied husks.

A terrible fate, but one they went to willingly, to fall defying the Arch-enemy to the last.

Valencia, the last of the Spawn to fall, what was left of the mass that had once been her head shorn away at a swipe from the Sorceror's staff, died knowing she'd swept a talon across his demonic lupine features. A final victory, and then she was simply one, reduced to atomized dust on the wind at the behest of the Champion's indignant fury.

Such a death pained Nell, she felt the psychic emanations echo through the warp as their now twisted souls were torn free and scattered to the depths of the Warp. Her skin warmed in response to the powers she directed underneath notice, and the bubbling of blood in her ears signaled another vessel broken. Dimly, she noted the decision her other self, that which was still borne by the Communion and directed by Alberic, had come to. A unanimous certainty.

Viridis, or the being that had once been Viridis but not for much longer if the tides of the Warp energy surrounding his bulging form were of any indication, had to be dealt with. The last of the Sisters met their fate, a Seraphim screaming her hatred on the wings of fire offered by her jump pack, swatted aside by the Princeling before her sword could scratch the ceramite. Her fellow Retributor murdered soon after, emptying her heavy bolter in a wrathful torrent, the shells popping like festival fireworks against the Apostle's _kine_ shield.

The force barrier absorbing the worst of the explosive shells, shrapnel doing little to slow the Astartes. A massive fist snatching hold of his prey's helmeted head and squeezing, the effort from what she could feel from the Apostle's warded mind laughably minimal.

And so the last of the Sororitas...no...no there was still one Soul left to stand against him, on her knees, her awareness scattered under the force of a telekinetic shockwave early in the charge, her armor blackened beyond the lacquered paint by a promethium sheen of redirected fire.

Delphine, the Sister who's mind showed so brightly, still breathed. If not for much longer, not if the Dark godling had anything to say about it.

 _"SUCH IS THE FATE OF THOSE WHO WOULD DEFY THE POWERS!"_

Viridis roared the decree to the heavens and the hellscape portal above, his voice audible not just to Nell's ears but as a resonating force that penetrated the mind's defenses. More than one guardsman toppled over from the shock of it, their minds reeling from the psychic scream only to vanish under a tide of mutant flesh. Those that didn't lose their lives immediately to a popping vessel that leaked in their brains anyway...pop, pop, _pop..._

 _"IN THIS, THE ELEVENTH HOUR, I SPEAK TO YOU! HIERARCH OF TERROR, LOST MAIDEN OF PANTHEON, GRANT ME YOUR FAVOR...!"_ And the heavens answered, invisible to mortal eyes yet to those that could view the whispering winds of the Immaterrium, perceiving the Sea of Souls...

 _ **"The strength of the Emperor is Humanity, and the strength of Humanity is the Emperor."**_

The Sermon spilled from the young Sister's vox grille, weary yet resolved, hurt but unbowed. A litany of proverbs designed to gird the soul and steady her spirit. Viridis' maw curling in a wicked grimace that showed quite well the extent of his physical changes, the expression no longer the bearing of a man, even a transhuman one.

But still Delphine worked herself to trembling feet, flamer clutched in hand, pilot light flickering in the winds cast by the maelstrom until it was released in a screaming gout of promethium fueled vengeance for the fallen. Parchment seared away from the face of power armor, the scent of burning hair filling her helmeted senses, but still he came. The worst of the flamer's torrent repelled by the psychic force of Viridis' kine shield

 _"PATHETIC GIRL!"_ Step by step, the Astartes advanced through the conflagration, dwarfing the Sister both physically and by the power he wielded, yet still she stood defiant. _"HE CANNOT HEAR YOU, THE LOST ONE WILL TOY WITH YOUR SOUL FOR ALL ETERNITY!"_

 ** _"If one turns from the other we shall all become the Lost and the Damned. Only in service is there absolution, our lives for his vision. Death is no barrier, for to die in his name is to live forever at his side...!"_**

Such...Faith, a strange concept to one such as Nell.

The Psyker understood the importance of service and worship to the God Emperor of Mankind, of course.

Through his guidance it was he who allowed Humanity to survive in a galaxy of horrors both material and less so, through his sacrifice and those of Souls like Delphine and the other Brides was the future of Humanity assured. Even Nell, her soul tainted by the corruption of mutation, a beacon to the Whispers that dwelt within the warp, had a place.

At least that had been what she'd been taught. The Emperor has a plan for all who serve him faithfully, from the highest Lord on Terra to the lowliest menial of the outworlds. But never before had she felt such a calling, such instinct to utilize her gifts...

 _-"The foe moves to slay the fool Sister!"-_ The sending through the being of the Communion crashed against Nell's thoughts, Alberic's terror wafting about her senses like a foul stench. _-"We strike upon her death, taking him with all we have at the moment of distraction. Hear me, Wretch!"-_ He could sense her split from the gestalt, the loss of so many component persona's revealing her lack of true connection. Nell was unable to compose herself, the man meant to let her die.

Energy built like the buzzing of flies across her consciousness, a signal of the energy mounting within the Force Staff the Apostle bore, leveled at the sister who's weapon finally faltered, falling from hands shaking under the weight of mental attack. Nell could feel as much as see the bolts of fiery lighting springing forth that would tear the Sister of Battle apart down to the primordial level, casting her Soul to shreds upon the eddies of the Empyrean.

She could not allow that to happen, her hand rising in a warding gesture, the full brunt of Nell's psychic influence snatched hold of the being known as the Communion for but a second. An eternity in the mental scope the gestalt consciousness, in which she stole the reins so to speak, guiding her Primaris and the sole remaining Psyker of her squad like puppets as Alberic had to her body this whole battle. Long enough to influence the path of the Sorcerer's assault a fraction, the ground alongside the Sister exploding in a plume of dust that sent her armored bulk flying to land several meters away, battered and bruised but impossibly intact.

Much to the dismay of both Chaos Champion and Sanctioned Imperial Psyker both...

"H-How...?" Alberic shook his head like a drunk and lowered his arms, flecks of blood cascading from his nostrils as he looked from side to side. His gaze finally settling on the young girl among the groups number, eyes burning with aetheric fire and utter hatred. His next words falling against the young Pyker's mental defenses like a tidal wave. _-"HOW DARE YOU!?"-_

 _-"No!"-_ A simple response in the wake of such a monumental task, one that saw her head jerk back under a blow of telekinetic force like a slap, blood filling her mouth. Delphine could not die, why? She could not be certain, only that she had to act! _-"Alberic, we can overwhelm him! Support her and...!"-_

 _-"Do not defy me, Curve! Know your place!"-_ A slur from the hive pits to accompany the clammy forced experience of one of his past 'conquests', inflicted upon her mind by the sick old man in his desperation for control. - _"The Bride was a distraction! A necessary sacrifice for victory!"-_

Hardly, it was vengeance, pure and simple. The Sisters of Battle reminded Alberic of the other sisters, the null ones...the ones who hurt him, women always hurt him...It was why he hurt Nell, made her see into his memories. Inflicting himself upon her, asserting his control.

Under the weight of the assault, the young woman could smell sweat and copper, taste the toxic tang of Obscura and other substances heavy on her tongue, feel the clammy chill of knives dragging across her skin...but rather than fear or horror, there was a stirring of something boiling in Nell's chest.

Disgust, certainly. Shame? No...not that. This was something warmer, something the made the Whisper's fall silent in ardent anticipation. Nell was angry...how curious. Anger was something she'd been instructed to avoid. Something burned out under the Null Maiden's brands in the depths of the Black ships. Something Alberic could sense through their faint connection, his mind lashing out to snatch hold of the Major's laspistol. The man's complaints silenced as he and the rest of his squad were knocked from their feet in the Communion's haste to deal with it's wayward member.

And all the while the anger only grew hotter...

Of course, she very much doubted she'd have time to explore this unfamiliar emotion in any great detail, and not simply because she could feel the texture of the trigger underneath the older man's twitching fingers, the intent of just what he intended to do to her etched clearly in the walls of his mind, not even bothering to conceal it from her. A sick pleasure at the pain he was going to inflict, the subtle parasitic hope that her screams would be as music, easing the Spirits that howled within his brain. Perhaps this Curve would finally shut them up, unlike all the others...

But she didn't fear Alberic any longer, not truly. He was like fearing a feral animal right in front of you when behind that stood an Ork, both able to kill you but one infinitely more deserving of attention. Nell had never seen an Ork in person, and if the howling green-skinned monstrosities plucked from the Primaris' surface engrams were anything to judge, she never wished to.

No enough distractions, she was well aware of the true danger, the 'Ork' coming to greet them well before the robed Psyker flanking Alberich's head exploded in a spectacular fountain of gore, crushed by telekinetic force that in turn sent ripples through the remaining pair of Psykers still breathing. The command squad of Imperial Guardsmen set to watch over them snapping into action to face the giant crashing in amongst their midst, somehow having closed the distance between itself and their group in an instant despite its size.

Her interference hadn't gone unnoticed, or ignored. The foul Major, unarmed with his only weapon lost to the Old Man he'd been meant to guard, died first. The upper half of his body collapsing in on itself under a mailed fist that fell like a hammer, splattering Nell's face in warmth and the pinprick pain of bone shrapnel shards cutting into flesh, putting her on the ground with a cry of pain.

His men lasted little longer, lasfire stitching against straining ceramite, doing little more than marring the paint and enraging the fallen Space Marine further.

Up close, he really was large, towering over Nell who barely would've stood up to his waist before the altering effects of his transformation. Dread froze her thoughts, a mercy as she might have instead been forced to suffer the deaths of the Guardsmen as their bodies ripped apart by a giant's claws or by forces they could hardly comprehend let alone combat.

 _"LITTLE FOOLS!"_ The Daemon thing cried out in a voice no longer even recognizable as having once been human, or even transhuman. " _ANTS SEEKING TO DEFY THE WILL OF THE LOST ONE! I WILL DEVOUR YOU ALL!"_ And he would, she watched him do it. Watched as the writhing shape of a human consciousness, the Guardsman's very soul itself, was consumed along with his fellows simply through proximity to the monstrous perversion of an Astartes.

And, as its eyes fell upon her laying in a crumpled heap of blood and dirt smeared robes, Nell knew something else as the anger bled away. A feeling far more familiar.

Fear...

 _-"H-Help me."-_ She prayed silently in her thoughts, her physical words little more than garbled spits of dirt and coppery tang, nonsensical in the extreme. Emperor help her, anyone please... _-"HELP ME!"-_

* * *

"Get down, Fool!"

Lux Brindle grunted in utter confusion a moment before he was shouldered roughly from his feet, a wash of prickling heat singing across his scalp. The trail of a stray las bolt that would've taken him full in the face if the fair Commissar hadn't forced him aside. The booming rapport of her Bolt pistol snapping off a trio of well placed shots that saw the mutant sump sucker who'd thought to take him off guard blasted back in scattered chunks.

Aw Frak, that had almost been him if Catelin hadn't moved a hair faster. He'd seen him coming too, he'd had time to fire back, but then he'd hesitated...no, no that wasn't it. He'd thought he'd heard...

"Help..."

"On your feet, Guardsman! I can't have you dying just yet." He didn't respond at first, blinking away tears that had formed at the edges of his vision, "I said _ON YOUR FEET_!"

The Commissar's gloved hand snatched hold of the back of the Trooper's collar by the scruff and hoisted him up, ignoring the fact he stood nearly a head taller and twice her bulk, and the stinging agony of her shoulder wound as she did so without so much as a whimper. Unsurprising really from what he'd seen of her so far, if it were possible to have shouted the wound into compliance, Lux was certain she would've done so.

Her resolve was the only thing keeping the remaining scattered Guardsmen of the Cadian 8th still upright and fighting, for what it was worth. A pitifully small number now, but they were making the Traitors bleed for every step they thought to take.

Only Lux had managed to keep up with her so far and even that was by as much sheer grit and determination as it was dumb luck, the others of her Command squad falling away one by one. Most struck down by las fire or remaining behind to organize what groups they could into something vaguely resembling resistance.

And right now the brunt of that imposing iron will was staring him down with a look that would've probably had a Kasrkin soiling himself.

As it was, he seemed hardly to notice, his skull pounding between his ears from the...from the what...? She was still talking, her mouth moving but he couldn't quite keep track of the words, his head on a swivel.

"...did this time! What is your malfunction, Brindle!?" At least it had been until she slapped him...hard, palm snapping across his jaw so hard he saw miniature stars flickering across his vision. Framing her grime smeared features, violet eyes shining fiercely under the bill of her somehow still immaculately settled cap. "Answer me, or so help me I'll shoot you myself, hive scum...!?"

 _'She really was pretty...'_ Frakking Throne, he must've hit his head harder than he thought, or had he? He tasted blood on his lips, and for the first time noticed his nose was bleeding. _'When did that happen? When she'd slapped...? Wait a second, the Commissar just said...'_

 _"_ Help."

"Help?" He was going to bite a bolt and he knew it, but somehow that fact, that word was all he could focus on. The only thing that made sense, and what a terrifying thing that was, even more so than the seething Commissar standing in front of him. "Help who? Speak sense, Trooper!"

"Help." He'd nodded dumbly as if that would satisfy anything, truly he must've hit his head and was just catching up. "Her, We have to help her."

The Commissar grimacing up at him with a sour expression, opening her mouth to berate him or execute him, he wasn't quite sure.

She never got the chance either, an explosion of fire and purple tinged lighting rippled outwards from the position a short ways distant, the hills glowing as two monumental forces beyond reasoning clashed. All while the great maelstrom raging overhead rumbled in violent approval.

A shiver ran down the Guardsman's spine, the muttering voices scratching dimly at the edge of his conscious thoughts, just as before. No, louder now. There was no one blocking the noise...wait a second, when had someone been...!?

"The Astartes, it appears he's encountered Major Krull's Psyker contingent." Catelin noted, watching the display and allowing the first tremor of unease Lux had heard in her voice so far to be heard. Not so difficult to see why, not if the Freaks were playing their games against those monsters. "They must've been hoping to support the Sororitas."

A dim hope that, seeing as there didn't seem to be any of the Battle Sisters left standing. Not too surprising, seeing as that lot had charged in screaming last he'd seen, though thankfully they'd had some effect, thinning the enemy ranks a tad. If only they'd been more thorough. Lux could just make out the shape of a massive armored body standing over a pair of Robes, his eyes settling on one in particular.

A little sleeve of a thing, all skin and bones with bedraggled curls huddled up on the ground, and then she was gone, swallowed up in the flames of the wychery taking place.

"What do you think you're doing, Guardsman!?"

Catelin's clipped demand stopped Lux in his tracks, the soldier realizing suddenly that he'd been jogging intently towards the epicenter of the madness, right out in the open too. Still, it wasn't like getting gunned down by the enemy was the problem, not with her pistol leveled at his skull, her eyes boring into his intently. It was madness, worse than that it was utter frakking insanity...that damnable rift, or the voices muttering in his head driving him off the wall.

"What are you doing!?" He needed an answer, one that wouldn't end with him getting shot, preferably.

"I'm gonna kill me some Traitors, Ma'am." Lux said honestly with a salute right out of the Primer, tacking on a sly grin that probably wasn't much worth the attempt, what with the blood, grime, and worse splattering his face and all. "Today just seems like the proper day for it." He was dead, his brain already working through a few scattered litanies in preparation for his swift journey to the Golden Throne.

Did it matter if he wasn't speaking? Nah, that wouldn't be fair to the poor sods who couldn't talk, there had to be exceptions, right. Maybe if he...?

"Your strategy?" The Trooper blinked, not sure if he'd heard his superior correctly, seeing as he'd probably(Maybe) hit his head. She couldn't actually be... "You've forgotten your weapon." The pistol lowered, gesturing to the discarded lasgun beside her, the rifle having slipped from Lux's hands during his brief stint on the ground. "Or do you intend to face the Astartes bare-handed? I applaud you're bravery, Trooper, but deranged recklessness is useless to me and the Emperor."

Lux nodded along, seeing she had a point, the Emperor needed him alive after all. That girl did too, whoever she was...

His mind raced frantically, staring across the field as he moved to retrieve the discarded lasgun, a wickedly toothy grin building at what he saw half buried at the edge of a crater. As if Sanguinalia had come early, and he hadn't even had to steal a present this year. The Commissar, noticing his reaction, followed his gaze and nodded approvingly.

"Desperate, I'll admit, but inspired nonetheless. You might've gone far in the Guard, Trooper Brindle, were it note for present circumstances."

"Careful, Ma'am. You're making me blu...I-I mean yes, Ma'am! Thank you, Ma'am!" The Guardsman clamped his mouth shut smartly like a proper Cadian at that withering glare, jogging in her wake. All the while praying he wasn't making some terrible mistake.

 _'Ah well, not as if it wouldn't be the first time...'_

Here's hoping it wasn't his last.

* * *

" _My Lady, your vitals experienced a brief but telling fluctuation, and I sense your Mount's spirit is restless. Are you well? Has Verdant Dawn sustained some injury?"_ Sacristan Trager's voice pulsed over the manifold, lost over the sounds of breathing, wet and rasping. The cloying acid tang of vomit and blood running from nostrils cloying senses once dominated by the bond to the Knight Titan, " _Please,_ _My Lady Vivian, are you...!?"_

"I'm...I'm well, Serf. _Verdant Dawn_ still strides...rrgh...with purpose!" Her voice, lacking its usual strength and authority, replied to the servant's pampering. "But his hoppers thirst, and the enemy remains numerous. Prepare...Prepare munitions."

" _I...Yes, of course. I stand ready as always."_ The link dissolved, the man's comforting presence fading with it.

Vivian Stahl shivered within the throes of her Throne Mechanicum at the feeling of utter helplessness running down her spine in that moment, a foreign and ugly feeling to one such as her, enough to make her vomit within her helm as shameful as it were.

A Scion of the Questor Imperialis, an Imperial Knight, a soul destined to wield the terrible might of _Verdant_ _Dawn_ as generations of her ancestors had before her. Their memories and triumphs guiding the steps of one meant to tread the Imperium's battlefields like a demigod. So when such an alien experience wracked her body unbidden, translating to a grinding shriek of metal as her valorous Mount attempted to copy the motion, she responded as was appropriate.

Vivian killed, and she killed gloriously...

The palm of her hand white hot, perfect mirror to the whirring Gatling Cannon ripping up the landscape in focused bursts of sustained withering fire. Scavenged Leman Russ battle tanks turned to effigies of the Traitors cause became so much flaming wreckage, purified in death after experiencing such corruption in life. Her breast tingled, the heavy stubber affixed to _Verdant Dawn's_ canopy reducing squads of scrambling frantic cultists into bloody chunks to be flattened to paste beneath her tread.

Such enemies were chaff, worse than insects beneath her gaze. Vivian was the judgment of House Stahl, of the Omnissiah, of the Emperor's wrath incarnate.

This feeling was not her own, that much she knew. To be bonded to a consciousness such as _Verdant Dawn_ was to be in constant struggle for control, her will dominating the feral instincts of her Mount, breaking and guiding that spirit to her intent. Such fear was foreign, yet its effects held sway, urging her back towards the line and the heart of that damnable weather pattern.

Lights and indistinct readings playing back across the Knight's augers and internal systems, false readings and the like inspired by the storm and the warp spawned trickery it affected. The path ahead clouded, and yet even as she tried to determine a course her Titan did it for her, the ancient spirit of _Verdant Dawn_ stepping forth, snapping at the reigns of her control.

It sensed a worthy foe, or at least a worthy challenge, a break from the senseless slaughter.

Hesitant as she was, Vivian knew better than to resist such instincts when they arose. The ancient war machine had lived and found victory across the face of a hundred worlds across centuries of pitched warfare by virtue of those flashes of insight. Who was she to bar its path.

 _"You sense it too, Stahl?"_ Lord Canus transmitted across the Court's manifold, _Stalwart in Grace_ striding to come abreast with Vivian's position, _Verdant Dawn_ instinctively easing back to allow its crimson-clad superior to take position at its head in deference. _"You sensed the call?"_

"My Lord?" The Scion tensed in her seat, not entirely sure how to answer. Vindication warring with pride, an understanding she knew she sensed from her Lead. "Indded I did, Lord Canus. A call for aid."

 _"A call we answer. The Code demands it."_ And with those words their course was set, to defend the weak and the helpless. The Code of Chivalry, that most ancient of concepts stretching back all the way to those first warrior orders birthed in the early days of Holy Terra, clear on such matters.

 _"What call?"_ Atra butted in, _Mordred's Humility_ stamping down to pulp a Chimera transport beneath its stanchion legs. A swing of the Gallant's Thunderstrike Gauntlet ending the Archenemy's attempts to form an artillery line in spectacular fashion, many of the looted Basilisks coming to rest several miles distant. _"Aid who, I sensed no distress signal?"_ His whining turned to spluttering gasps as Vivian urged her Mount towards the source of the disruption, following senses despite the lack of true clarity in her sensors, trusting to _Dawn's_ noble spirit to walk this path and carry with purpose. _"Stahl, where are you...!?"_

A great commotion sounded, Lord Canus' Paladin cuffing the Gallant physically with the barrel of its Cannon, a rebuke and silent urging to follow in the young Knight's wake.

And so it was the Knights of House Krast and Stahl charged towards the heart of the storm, heedless of aetheric lightning crackling off their Ion shields and singeing the paint from their Mount's hull plating.

The baying spirits of demi-Titans crying out in exultation, mirrored sympathetically by the pilots within...

* * *

Alberic, Primaris Psyker of the Cadian Shock Troopers, died in great agony.

Pleading desperately for his life, his body not quite registering the iron spikes of the Apostle's staff driven through his sternum, spitting him like some grotesque standard. His last thoughts dwelling on how dreadfully unfair he'd felt his pain filled existence had been, fearful at the question of whether there really was an Emperor waiting for him, and vindictively gleeful that the bitch that saw this fate befall him would meet the same grisly fate.

Cruel thoughts from a cruel man, but he was right. Nell would die, slowly, she didn't need to read the Astartes thoughts to know that intent burning in those daemonic orbs that had once been eyes. Eyes that grew ever hotter as Alberic's soul gasped from his corporeal form in a rush of pure psychic terror, only to be consumed by the Word Bearer's presence as the others had been. His power devoured to serve the will of the Dark Gods.

" _DELICIOUS."_ Viridis purred like some great jungle predator, savoring the kill to the fullest before casting the mutant's body aside as easily as he had the Sister Superior before. _"SUCH POWER, BUT YOU...YOU ARE SOMETHING DIFFERENT, AREN'T YOU CHILD?"_ His gaze falling onto Nell who scrabbled back, breaking nails against the dirt in her haste to get away, sheer animal terror filling her senses. _"YES THAT'S RIGHT...FEAR, STRUGGLE, SUCH THINGS ONLY IMPROVE THE TEXTURE..."_

'Transhuman dread' or something like it, a phrase she'd gathered from the fleeting impressions cast forth in the Guardman's dying moment. Her own concept of the word woefully inadequate by lack of socialization and background experience.

 _"THE RITUAL IS ALMOST COMPLETE...HER FREEDOM ALMOST ASSURED!"_

A clawed fist drove towards the burning eye-storm he'd conjured above, the Whispers growing even louder in volume, speaking of new worlds, new possibilities, new endings, new beginnings...so loud...the sound pattering against Nell's mind in a steady rain, her skull feeling sticky and hot, blinking bloody tears from her gaze even as she struggled to stand...

 _"MY BROTHERS SCOFFED! MY FATHER NAMED ME A FOOL! BUT NO MORE! THIS. IS. VINDICATION!"_

The Psyker was a mouse cornered by a feline, and like a cornered mouse she fought back just as desperately, allowing the tendrils of her consciousness lash outwards. Potent limbs of psychic force striking the barriers erected about the Astartes' mind with such force it physically drove his hulking form back a step, surprise unwillingly etching itself across bestial features once again.

Replaced swiftly by burning rage, so hot it scalded her mind clean...

 _"ONE MORE DEATH, ONE MORE LIFE OFFERED, AND YOU...YOU SHALL BE THE KEY! THE KEY TO THE LOST ONE'S RISE!"_

His words made no sense, but they were delivered alongside such a potent channel of aetheric force that it pushed Nell off her feet and back into the morass of blood and corpses, decay filling her nostrils alongside the scent of blood...so much blood, so hot and wet against her skin...Whispers, so many Whispers purring promises into her ears and seeking to work their way in piece by piece by...NO! No more distractions...!

 **"BURN HERETIC!"** A shout, the whoosh or howling flames, and Viridis was consumed in a promethium soaked torrent. Sister Delphine, discarded and forgotten, had risen unsteadily on her feet with weapon raised.

No longer benefiting from the sorcerous protections, his sole focus on the Psyker, Viridis' warp touched flesh burned. Black fur charring and catching in great plumes of heat that turned the flesh beneath to running rivulets, the monster's howls piercing into Nell's mind and no doubt the Sister's as well judging by the sudden untimely cessation of her assault.

 _"YOU CORPSE-WORSHIPING BITCH!"_

Untimely indeed, Viridis, or the Daemon thing that had once been Viridis, was still alive. Screaming in the pairs minds, so loud as to be deafening.

Howling in pained feral fury from a maw almost melted shut, the Astartes tossed his staff like a spear, coming within a hand's breath of taking the Sororitas' head from her shoulders. As it stood, the sheer force of the throw tore the helm seals of her wargear asunder, ripping the sabbat helm free to reveal startlingly blue eyes set within dusky features chiseled sharp by years of training and self infliction, framed by a roughly hewn strand of dyed white streaked with chestnut brown.

 _"YOUR SOUL I WILL TOY WITH, ETERNITY SPENT IN EXCRUCIATION FOR THIS AFFRONT! OH I PROMISE YOU PAIN, GIRL, AND PAIN YOU SHALL HAVE!"_

The Enemy wasn't done just yet either, the hand that had gripped his staff reaching towards the Sister and clenching its fist as if her neck was already within his grasp. Nell could feel the eddies of psychic force about the gesture, and sure enough Delphine now clutched at her throat, face screwed up in fierce if panicked understanding, quite unable to breath.

 _"AND IT SHALL BE SO SO SLOOOOOOOOW!"_

Nell tried her best to aid the Sister, raising dirt caked grasping hands as if she could tear away the forces assailing her ally, to no avail. The extent of her endurance had been pushed to its limits in ways she had never quite experienced before. First by Alberic's wild misuse, then in that final desperate sending, there was nothing left. Nothing that would save the Sister at any rate, nails scratching at an insurmountable wall...but still she tried, desperately, eyes widening at the sight of the stalwart Sister floating a clear foot off the battlefield.

"Stop." Nell whimpered, spitting the words through a mouthful of burning copper, "Stop stop stop STOP!"

The Whispers were hardly whispering now, instead screaming in exultation at the culmination of whatever dark designs had been enacted, a presence spurring it on. A woman, standing atop the savaged wreck of a loyalist tank, mouthing words of prayers foul and unknowable with syllables beyond the scope of any sane language. Nell could feel it all, could feel the Acolyte's mind linking with that of her Master, all bound to the raging storm above that had now reached its fever pitch, crimson lighting and flickering plumes of warp-born hellfire whirling in a cyclone of foul energies that would consume this field and all those upon it.

It's humming keen the high pitched wailing of...wait, that wasn't the Storm?

 _"HAVE YOU ANY FINAL WORDS, SISTER?"_ Virdis hummed, it's glee palpable in the Aura it extruded, it's triumph at hand. " _THEY SHALL BE THE LAST YOU SHALL EVER UTTER, OUTSIDE OF BEGGING PLEAS, THAT IS."_

 _"..._ peror...!" A rasping wheeze from a throat constricted, sounding weak, so very weak...

 _"HMM? DO SPEAK UP NOW, CHILD."_ Viridis made to squeeze even tighter, this time no doubt intent on finishing the Sister where she floated helpless. _"WHAT WAS THAT?"_

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" A familiar battle cry, screamed from a pair of throats unfamiliar to Nell's ears. Except for one, one who's mind she knew quite deeply, having rooted around in it before if only briefly. A desperate hope, come thankfully to miraculous fruition.

Viridis barely had time to turn his head to gauge the source of the noise before his head, that misshapen beast maw of melted sinew and singed fur, simply vanished. More accurately, it burst from the inside out under sudden cooking over-pressure, foul brains charred to jellied black masses that in turn evaporated along with flesh. His headless bulk slumping in it's dented, ravaged armor, a puppet with its strings cut...

A swift death, so sudden the Apostle couldn't even react, though his Acolyte did. Oh yes she did indeed...

The woman known as Claret screaming a throat-tearing howl of anguish and clutching at her skull in response to the psychic feedback of her Master's demise, courtesy of the pair of mortals, a Guardsman lacking his helmet and a disheveled Commissar, perched behind the barrel a steaming Las-cannon still half buried in the muck, the pair having struggled to maneuver the massive emplacement about, waiting for their moment to strike.

Nell could sense their elation at having struck the killing blow against all odds, sense the righteous vindication in the heart of Sister Delphine at the demise of her Sister's killer, and yet.

 _-"No...No it's not yet done..."-_

She sent the missive forth none too gently, the call doubling over both Delphine and the Guardsman from the shock. The Trooper, Lux, was afraid, terrified, unable to understand what was happening or the voice in his head, but the Sister knew. Angry beyond reason, the Sister shook her head wildly in response to the intrusion, eyes finding Nell and for the briefest of moments desired nothing more than to burn the little mutant for daring to touch her thoughts with its filthy intentions.

But her anger was misplaced, the Ritual was not yet done, and as Viridis had said... _"ONE MORE DEATH, ONE MORE LIFE OFFERED"_

 _-_ " _It's not done...It's not done...IT'S NOT DONE!"-_ But it was too late.

The Heretic's headless body lurched and stood...no, floated above the ground. Limbs and torso twisting and contorting in such a manner that bone crunched to powder and ceramite plates buckled. Something writhed within the fallen Champion's body, all of the barely contained fury of the storm struggling to rip itself free and become manifest.

Black shapeless matter poured from rents in flesh and armor, coalescing like a massive cloud of shimmering vapor. Taking shape even as Nell watched on from her place on the ground, as Delphine snatched hold of her fallen Flamer, as the pair of Guardsman and Commissar frantically attempted to reload and redirect the Las-cannon, as a trio of hulking demi-titans sounded their war horns in challenge at the threat taking shape.

To her mind's fast fading eye, Nell saw the outline of a maiden, a woman more beutiful yet more terrible than any she had ever seen. An ageless avatar that looked about the battlefield with a cursory gaze, and found what she saw painfully wanting.

To those who could only see with mortal eyes however, it lacked in everything, even basic definition. Nothing concrete, it's form ever-shifting, but its intention clear. Pure contempt for order, a frothing desire to see wrongs inflicted upon itself rights.

Pure anarchy...pure Malice...and then light poured from the sky and consumed everything, and everyone on the field. The planet itself seeming to break apart as reality itself rebelled, shattering into the abyss.

 _'How?'_ Nell's mind wondered, even as her consciousness ebbed, those lights about her vanishing, consumed by the raging storm above, _'How...'_

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Segmentum Unknown, Date Indeterminate - Beacon Academy)**

"...do we respond to something like this, Professor?"

Ozpin tore his gaze from the window of his tower, away from the building storm that continued to expand over the length and breadth of the Emerald Forest, to share a glance with the blonde Huntress beside him. Noting her unease, her confusion, her hope for his counsel. Such observations helped, especially when it came to clearing the strange feelings and emotions assailing his thoughts.

If he was suffering as such, his students, his charges must be...no! He had to keep him mind on the wider picture.

"With our best foot forward, Glynda. Remnant can afford nothing less." Ozpin settled back into his seat, pinging alerts from over a dozen sources, all figures hoping for insight into just what was happening, seeking answers. Answers the Huntsman couldn't give them. "What do we know?"

It was a curious feeling, to be unaware of something so utterly, to encounter a phenomenon so alien to everything he'd ever experienced. Refreshing, and terrifying all in one.

"Very little." Glynda Goodwitch glanced at her scroll, adjusting her spectacles. A nervous tick of hers she hardly seemed to notice. "Whatever..." Stress lines marred her features, the woman pausing to steel herself with that same indomitable will that had brought her to Ozpin's attention in the first place. "...Whatever this phenomenon is it's certainly not a natural formation. Nor is it a singular occurrence isolated strictly to Vale." That was a surprise, and hardly a pleasant one. "What word I've received from James, what scattered updates he's receiving from his people, has several similar events taking shape throughout the Kingdoms, and those are just the ones we know of."

"It's widespread."

"It's worldwide, Professor, and people are already panicking."

Panic that would breed fear and negativity, which would in turn draw the creatures of Grimm in their vast hordes. It mattered little what this maelstrom was or what it would accomplish if the threat they already understood doomed them first.

Action would need to be taken, swift action. Nothing he hadn't resorted too before.

Glynda was uneasy however, that much was clear in her manner. A delicate hand thumbing the crop at her thigh, her eyes staring at the storm lost in contemplation. "What is it?" The words made her start, blinking away the distant distraction and returning her thoughts to the present. To unnerve a skilled Huntress like Glynda, a woman of her composure... "Please, Glynda. Speak your mind."

"Is this _Her_ doing, Ozpin?" The question he'd been dreading, the one looming over this current predicament like a shroud. Or a guillotine...

Was this _**her**_? After so many years of skulking in the shadows, was this truly the beginning of some grand scheme? An endgame?

"I can't say." He spoke the truth, he could not know.

Ozpin hoped that he'd have had some warning, seen some sign of the ancient threat maneuvering itself into place, but there had been none. Still...

"But if this _is_ one of Salem's machinations, we will stand ready to stop her as we always have. Inform Qrow of the situation, and work with James to mobilize his forces with support from the students."

"The students?" The Professor sounded shocked, and with good reason, seeming almost ready to argue the point. A look and a solemn nod was all the old Headmaster could offer her reservations. Children they might be, but they were heroes as well, or would need to be to face the oncoming threat. Whatever that threat might be. "Right...Right, I will make the necessary arrangements. I'll start with volunteers, and have the other Staff on standby to assist with any who might react poorly to..." She trailed off, not needing to state the obvious.

Fear and confusion would hardly remain limited to the broader public, and Glynda felt the strange otherworldly wrongness of the Storm chipping away at her composure as much as Ozpin himself did.

"I'll handle it, Headmaster." The woman spoke up once more, seeking to reassure him, the thought very welcome indeed.

"I know you will, Glynda. Be sure...!?" He made to reply, opening his mouth to continue on only for his words to be lost as a deafening explosion rippled outwards from the Storm, a wave of force that almost seemed to crash against his very soul. Beacon Academy itself suffered as well, the great structure rattling, the ground wrenching itself underfoot.

On instinct alone, the Huntsman's Aura springing to life only to fail as the world itself seemed lost in the crimson luxin, so alike to a Grimm's baleful eye...

Laughter filling the air at the furthest edges of his awareness, an old sound of such cruelty and malice it made even a Soul as old as his own shudder like a child left in the dark. It was the mad cackling of a thirsting god, one that had been left to rot, and one who's triumph would see all in its path fall to ruin.

Fear itself, and it was awake...

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 **A/N: Finally onto the main story, funny how this prologue was meant to be one chapter. Definitely underestimated that a little, but better late than never. I can only hope the stories been entertaining so far and that people are at least somewhat enjoying it. I've actually quite enjoyed writing it, far more than I thought I would.**

 _ **For those of you who know a bit about retconned Warhammer's backstory, you'll probably know what and who Viridis was shouting about and this attempt at a link to the RWBY-Verse. I've seen the concept thrown around in other fics and it makes a lot of sense why. Colors Black and White, The Outcast, just seemed to work out.**_

 _ **Let's just say things aren't going to go perfectly to canon.**_

 _ **Next chapter we finally get Imperial boots on Remnant, and I'm thinking why not start off with a bang. Or maybe with Space Marines, the explosion will probably be more devastating. This lot weren't the only ones caught in that blast, and not all of them with good intentions. Though considering this is the Imperium, who knows who the bad guys actually are. (Probably still Chaos, at least to most people.)**_

 _ **Anyway, hope to be updating soon. Feel free to leave comments and such, things you want to see, it all goes to make the story better. - Mojo**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 4 - The Angels of Death-**

* * *

 **"** ** _They shall be my finest warriors, these men who give of themselves to me. Like clay I shall mould them and in the furnace of war I shall forge them._**

 ** _They shall be of iron will and steely sinew. In great armour I shall clad them and with the mightiest weapons shall they be armed._**

 ** _They will be untouched by plague or disease; no sickness shall blight them. They shall have such tactics, strategies and machines that no foe will best them in battle. They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity._**

 ** _They are my Space Marines...and they shall know no fear._** **"**

— Attributed to The Emperor of Mankind, in regards to the Legiones Astartes

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Solitas - Northern Glacial Expanse)**

" _ARH-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

A bellowing howl rang true across the icy tundras and snow laced fields, a pure white expanse stained by a handful loping shapes covered head to claw in ragged tufts of fur as black as the endless void between the stars.

Odd Redtooth, Astartes of the _Vlka Fenryka..._ the Space Wolves, could smell the evil upon the beasts ranging below towards his position atop the ridge line, as ridiculous as some might find the notion, tasting the stench of their musk as his nostrils flared and the protective totems hanging about his wargear rattled omnously.

The dark miasma they exuded with every baying motion tainting the crisp air an acrid fetor of ancient bitterness, cruel anger, and meat long left to spoil...he'd smelt days old dead Kraken more enticing.

That these Daemons, these _Maleficarum_ , so closely resembled those wolven companions of the Rout, only heaped upon further insult. That such filth would dare to sully the image and nature of those noble hunters, however poorly, even going so far as to travel in clusters vaguely resembling a pack.

The mere thought of it was enough to set a feral growl building in his throat, one swiftly echoed by the lupine Fenrisian beast hunched by his side, brown dappled hackles raised and fangs the size of a mortal's hand bared, settling instinctively in position to guard her partner's back as he scoured the valley below.

"They just keep coming, eh Bruna?" The Space Marine spat to rid his mouth of the flavor before shaking out his braided crimson mane, a flash of pearly white fangs glistening from the depths of a pleated beard the same fiery shade as he laid a gauntlet clad hand on the Fenrisian Wolf's muzzle affectionately. "Go fetch our new friend, if he's done brooding over that fekking _Skíthof_ infesting the Vox."

As if to underline the point, Redtooth tapped the side of his temple, keying the Micro-bead implant set within his cochlea open. Listening to the garbled mess of chirping clicks and unintelligible whistling squeals playing incessantly over all channels for a few more heartbeats before dismissing the connection with a sigh.

Useless, but their new ally insisted on attempting to track the curious signal to its source.

It was an objective at least...and it did have its moments.

"In the meantime, I think I'll introduce myself to these local _hundr_. Show them what a real Wolf looks like."

Bruna's growl subsided to almost a purr of contented understanding, Odd's hand moving to massage his friend's scalp to further relieve her tension, feeling the studded metallic plate that had replaced much of the left side of her head along with her ear and eye, listening to the way the Cyberwolf's augmetic paw easily dug furrows even in the thick ice and stone.

Another nod sent her bounding off back the way they had come, gone in an instant in the flurry of snow dust. A consummate predator even in these strange lands.

Scarred by the forge of war as the Space Wolf was in his way, and no less beautiful for it. No, these imitations were not true wolves, far from it he decided as the hand that had soothed Bruna dipped to the two handed Power Ax that law at his feet, _Stormurstjórn_ _ **,**_ ' _Stormcaller'._

The weapon thrumming to life as a finger thumbed the rune at the base of it's single curved blade, the steel crackling with sheer crimson energy like that of it's namesake as snow in the air played against the energized field surrounding it.

If they were true wolves, Odd might have reconsidered his next course of action more carefully...at least for the few seconds it took for the turbines of his jump pack to vault him back into the air, leaving not behind on his previous perch but flash evaporated steam and dripping slurry.

For a few precious beats of his twin hearts, Redtooth soared free, truly free in the skies of this new world. The feeling of it, flying amidst the howling gales and ice storms that nipped at his exposed flesh, hazards that would flaw the flesh of an unaugmented mortal but were merely proved a mild discomfort at best to the Space Marine. The cutting winds whistling through his beard, massaging the shorn bristles of his undercut, setting his braids flapping wildly behind him in a way that set the fangs and bone fragments within jingling to his transhuman senses.

It was glorious, almost akin to flying back home on Fenris during the long Hel-Winter, though a pale imitation of it, too warm...and then gravity reclaimed him, and he fell feet first into the murder-make. The kill urge, that instinct for violence that drove all of the Wolf King's gene-sons to acts of purest savagery, consuming him once more in a welter of crimson for but a moment until it was beaten back once more.

Angling his descent and howling his hatred to the heavens for the Allfather to hear, Odd came down like a meteor in a bone-jarring crash directly on top of the lead Maleficarum, crushing its spine to jelly with a vaguely lupine yelp that only made it more satisfying to grind beneath his heel, at least until it dissolved like the others the Wolf had slain since the Hel-Storm had deposited he and his companions here.

 _'Speaking of which...'_

" _AH HA HA_! Another! That makes _sjaután! S_ eventeen! And your tally stands at what, Flesh Weaver!?"

Odd laughed as he kicked himself out of his self-made crater, spinning about to strike at another of the Maleficarum that had thought to take him unawares and lunge for his back. _Stormcaller_ made quick work of that, the Power Field cleaving through the monster's neck, sinew, muscle, and bone, all. Parting head from shoulders like a hot blade through fresh snow.

The Space Wolf's fanged grin growing ever broader as he shouldered the swiftly dissipating body aside roughly with the pauldron bearing the jagged lightning bolt of the his Company's Stormbringers, already turning to meet what other dangers might be lurking in the wastes.

" _Fekke_...never mind, I'm winning! Eighteen!"

 **"You can...** ** _ah_** **! You can hardly claim this a fair race! And your wolf's doesn't count!"**

A reply called from several meters distant from the helm of a Space Marine in armor painted bone white and marked clearly with the symbols of both the Prime Helix of the Apothecarion, marking his status as both Battle-Brother and Field Medicae, as well as the distinctive black Cross of his Chapter on a field of white.

Drawn or so it was said from one of the ancient knightly orders of Terra, an heir to the line of the vaunted Sigismund.

A Black Templar...

Odd knew him simply as Niall, an Apothecary that had been deposited in this place at the same time he had been along with the corpse of another of his Brothers, though they'd never seen one another before today.

Redtooth and Bruna had been fighting alongside their Jarl Sven Bloodhowl and the other Firehowlers upon the Despoiler's Blackstone Fortress, a massive Starship designed in a bygone age with the power to destroy entire planets and would have destroyed Cadia and the Imperium's defenders if the Space Wolves hadn't lowered its shields and exposed its vulnerability.

The ship had been falling, fire and explosions everywhere, both from the failing ship and those few Traitors still clinging to life and hoping to cut at least one more loyal thread. Odd had been tumbling out a bulkhead into the void after a krak-grenade had detonated, clutching tight to Bruna as the pair fell into nothingness, with only the sight of a furious storm front crackling with Aetheric energy to greet them.

It should have been a good omen, given his affinity for the storms of his homeworld, but when a flicker of lightning had altered its path to intercept Man and Wolf like some questing tendril Odd had felt only unease.

Niall had arrived under similar duress given the dents and stains about his armor, none of which he deigned to explain. So an accord was struck, Brothers in purpose if not Sire, formed over the body of one of the fallen.

His Progenoid Glands, that precious genetic resource all Space Marines carried to ensure their legacy and spirit would continue on long after even death itself, safely harvested and carried by the Apothecary alongside far too many others. His sword taken as well, chained to his Brother's wrist as a show of honor.

 **"Really? A jump pack of all things...** ** _Hyah_** **! I was under the impression** ** _your_** **kind...grr! Your kind disdained fighting in the air, though I cannot fathom the reasoning!"**

He was rather taken up at the moment with a Maleficarum Wolf-thing of his own, having more far difficulty fighting and maneuvering in the waist deep snow than Odd himself had, no doubt unused to the experience.

But he was learning quickly, as all Astartes did, his borrowed chainsword weaving a complex series of blocks and parries that had already severed one of the monster's forelimbs.

Bruna herself was nowhere to be seen, but Odd hardly worried. She had long since proven able to handle herself without his watchful eye, no doubt hunting at the edges.

Seeking those Shadow-Things attempting to flee and regroup. So thoughtful of her...

 **"Something trivial and tribal, no doubt!"**

"More a matter of honor in truth!" Redtooth called back, allowing only the slightest grimace of annoyance to grace his cheery exterior. His cousin didn't know any better, not yet. "The Wolf King was content to earn his glories fighting upon the surface of a world, so in my brother's minds that too must be the only proper way of making war!"

Reacting quickly, the Skyclaw used a quick burst of his jump pack to dart aside from one of the larger beasts he'd seen so far, skidding for several meters before blasting back into range with a gleeful howl, sidestepping and knocking aside the feral claws that did little more than scrape the paint of his armor.

From there it was simply a matter of cutting the beast down like one of the ancient ice veined trees dotting the base of Asaheim, hewing the legs out from under it in one great swing.

"I...respectfully disagree, though thankfully my Jarl is... _was_ of a similar mind."

In a smooth motion he drew the Bolt Pistol mag-locked to his thigh and put a bolt through the back of the mewling creature's skull. The mass-reactive shell punching clean through the thick bone before detonating in a brilliant blossom of foul smelling dark matter and dispelling the morose air that had accompanied the words.

The time to mourn Sven Bloodhowl and his Packmates would come later, now was the time to kill or be killed, the hunt...

" _Nítján!_ Nineteen!"

 **"Somehow I doubt you ever having done anything '** ** _respectfully_** **' in your life, Redtooth!"** Niall scoffed, bringing his blade about in a flourish of whirring teeth that disemboweled the Shadow-Thing handily, a dire wound though not immediately lethal.

A Flesh-Cutter's stroke, neat and precise, full of purpose...

Rather than finish the monster whining piteously at his feet, the Templar raised his Narthecium high. A wrist mounted medical device crucial to his trade, the device contained a variety of functions that would assist a servant of the Apothecarion in tending to his charges, including a suite of injectors and drug cocktails tailored to the transhuman physiology of an Astartes, cogitator systems meant to analyze a host of toxins and biological material, as well as a host of cutting tools useful for treating a wounded Battle-Brother in full armor.

The Reductor was one such tool, designed to piece the flesh and musculature of a fallen warrior and reclaim the precious Gene-Seed and store it in cryo-receptacles. The Apothecary had a different use in mind, driving the needle-like device deep into the creatures meat and viscera.

The Narthecium chimed loudly as it attempted to read the beasts genetic material, then a red light shone and a series of runes dancing across the device's vid-screen. Gibberish to Odd, but Niall examined it succinctly with a grunt of concerned understanding.

 **"Hmm, how curious..."** Only then did he regard his unwilling donor, snapping its neck under his heel with a perfectly weighted stomp.

"Eh, what's that!? Find something!?" Odd punched one of the Shadow Wolves, sending it reeling back with a mouthful of shattered teeth, bounding away before he could get at it. A shame, though Bruna would claim it certainly.

 **"This Xenos breed, they appear to leave no physical traces after expiring, no corpses or leavings by which to study."** That much was obvious, the pair had learned that particular trait early on when the Apothecary had sought to dissect one after their first encounter. **"Even material claimed while they yet breathe fades to nothing soon after extraction, more akin to the foul spawn of the Empyrean than anything of flesh and blood. A disturbing notion..."**

"Have you considered the possibility, Templar, that perhaps our threads might have already been cut?"

It made some sense after a fashion, given the circumstances that saw them here. By all rights both _Vlka_ and Cyberwolf should have fallen, their bodies drifting in the void about the Cadian Gate or lost with the Despoiler's Planet-Killer. To stand here now...

Odd made a swift gesture of warding, dispelling the negative malaise before it could settle and give the Spirits a place in his soul to spread their poison.

"Waylaid along the path to the Underverse by the _Svikaris_ _ **'**_ _Maleficarum_ , the Traitors' dark sorcery...grr!? "Our Souls charged with joining battle against these _Banisvatr_ at the gates of _Hel_ for Morkai's merriment?""

A slavering muzzle clamped down against Redtooth's forearm, tearing the hand from the haft of his ax if little else, such feeble jaws hardly able to do more to the Ceramite than scratch the paint.

Still it was annoying, a swift jab to the gut with the butte of his weapon's handle and getting the monster to release his limb if only so he could snatch hold of its lower jaw before shoving _Stormcaller_ into its mouth.

The ax providing the perfect lever to unhinge and then tear the Daemon-thing's jaw off in a squeal of agony that might've been an attempt at a howl but only succeeded in spraying the Space Wolf's bare face with dark ichor.

 _'Twenty...'_

 **"Hmm...Poetic, if nigh on blasphemous to the Throne itself."** Niall considered, shoving the drill of his Narthecium into the gut of a brutish apelike creature not all too dissimilar to a greenskin if possessing the same dark matter flesh, white masked chitin, and the same sour stench as the not-wolves. **"Forced to fight these wretched beasts for the amusement of some tribal myth, and upon some accursed frozen wasteland no less?"** The drill keened to life, it's victim dissolving in an instant while its owner made a warding gesture to the land at large, voice laden with the righteous fervor indicative of his kind. **"Ridiculous! What sort of accursed Afterlife would that make!?**

"Oh, I don't know. Endless foes to slay, and a proper breeze upon our skins?"

The last of the creatures fell swiftly, either to Odd's ax or Niall's fury, the two suddenly alone in the icy field, the snow still pure as though they'd only just arrived rather than commit a massacre. No signs of their glory to mark the ground, no trophies with which to inspire the Skalds...

"Why, this sounds like a proper Fenrisian ending to my ears, Cousin! All it lacks is some endless fountains of _Mjod_ to warm our bones, a few buxom _Kvinnfolka_ to sing our praises, ooh and something larger to sink our fangs into!" He raised _Stormcaller_ high above his head, feeling the ambient crackle of the disparate energies dancing across the blade, reacting to the stinging shards of ice filling the air. "If it is our _wyrd_ to seek glory beyond the halls of death, Redtooth demands proper contest!"

As if in answer, a titanic roar echoed through the valley with enough force to rattle even a Space Marine's bones, birthing avalanches in the distance with the force of its passage.

A shadow began to coalesce in the mist at the edges of their chosen battleground, easily twice the size of the previous Maleficarum, those _Banisvatr,_ and far broader besides, horns curling up the sides of its distended skull.

For a mad instant, Odd wondered what in the Allfather's name a Fenrisian Ice Troll was doing on this alien world? A question he swiftly discard as he noted the direction it charged in...

 **"Throne of Terra!"** The Apothecary at his side braced himself, sword held in a duelist's defensive stance tensed and at the read, completely at odds with Redtooth's own savage eagerness. **"You just** ** _had_** **to tempt fate, didn't you?"**

"Ah _Skítja!"_

True, Bloodhowl and his Packleaders over the years had often chided him for angering the spirits with his willfulness. Only the Trickster himself had ever shown any kind of support for the practice, saying it made Odd well...odd. Whether or not that was a compliment was never truly explained.

"Alright then...Maybe a might bit bigger than I was expecting all at once!"

 **"Perhaps its one of your buxom...what did you call them again, Wolf?"**

He didn't have to sound so smug about it, though was that a trace of excitement in the Templar's voice? It was often said they were the most zealous of Dorn's Pack of Pups, always the first onto the field and the last to leave only when the enemy had been purged, the murder-make complete, and blood still fresh upon the ground. At least that his Chapter and the _Rout_ had in common.

Both liked to look into the eyes of whose threads they cut, to carve their doom upon the Imperium's many foes in the name of the Allfather and his long vanished Sons.

 **"No matter, this one we take together! In the Emperor's Name!"**

"Oh ho! Not so fast, Flesh Weaver! I laid eyes on it first! By rights, this monster's pelt will make a fine addition to my Tally!"

 **"Bold words, Skyclaw! Of course, they will ring quite hollow after I've claimed this filth's head for myself!"**

" _Ha HA!_ Now you're getting the spirit, Templar!" Odd laughed, moving into closer position with his new ally even as the old seemed to melt from the mists at their back. Bruna stalking to take her customary place guarding his flank, her Augmetic eye whirring and teeth bared a fierce white. She'd hunted well it seemed, the scent of her prey still clinging to her even in death.

Three heroes against a mighty _Jova,_ a Giant, in a land of monsters...oh what a tale for the Sagas that would make...

 _"Heidur Rus!"_ Odd howled, Bruna joining him in chorusing harmony, mailed fingers digging into the well worn haft of his ax. The totemic charms hanging across both his armor and _Storm's Heart_ jingling in the harsh winds whipping about them. " _Fenrys Hjølda!_ _ **"**_

" **No Pity! No Remorse! N** ** _o Fear_** **!** ** _"_** Niall declared, the ancient battle cry of the Eternal Crusade spilling from his modified vox-grille. The two Astartes and the bestial Bruna poised at the ready to meet the _Jova_ in battle as it stepped from the mists, or staggered...

 _Once_ it had been an intimidating creature of some note, easily of a size with the mammoth Ork Warbosses that stood at the head of Greenskin forces and roughly as broad about. Covered in shaggy tufts of insulating fur and weathered bone-like spiked plating about its vital areas, laden by freakishly long arms tipped in rending talons, and a gaping mouth that looked as though it could swallow a mortal whole in a single bite and chew them apart with rows upon rows of distended yellow fangs.

A formidable foe, a worthy adversary to mark what may well have been the last stand of some of the Imperium's finest... Once...but no longer.

The _Jova_ wasn't lost in a maddening blood rage as Odd had suspected from its haste, enraged at the slaying of its kin, the scent of something far removed wafting to the forefront now that it was closer, unmistakable to the veteran Skyclaw's senses.

The oily slick scent of these monsters' lifeblood, oozing slowly like tar from over a dozen gaping rents and tears carved into the giant's flesh, dripping from the mangled stump of what had once been its forearm. .

Their Alpha foe wasn't charging to battle, it was _fleeing_ from one. Retreating with all haste in a desperate bid for not in anger, but in terror, crying for reinforcement from it's fellows, its servants perhaps...unaware their threat had been ended by the trio before it.

Though upon witnessing the true nature of its pursuer, Redtooth could hardly blame the beast's primitive instincts for hoping...or for retreating, the ground shuddering beneath its mighty tread. The hesitation of its prey upon seeing the three newcomers ringing its demise.

 _ **"-SILENCE! YOUR MEWLING WEAKNESS OFFENDS DEARG!-"**_

A sonorous roar swimming with corrupted Vox-distortion yet unmistakable in the might of its conviction tolled like a mighty bell through the audible range, reverberating through the air as a nigh on physical force.

So much so that Bruna whined shrilly in show of her discomfort and nudged closer to the Space Wolf, Odd for but a moment wishing his own helm back in place when his own ears popped painfully and an unfamiliar wave of disorientation hit him before his enhance physiology compensated, envious of the sound dampening systems Niall no doubt enjoyed despite the confining nature of the head gear.

Another giant thundered from the wall of white fog smashing aside the ridge of icy sleet rather than traversing it, this one a behemoth of quartered Crimson and Cerulean lined Adamantium armor plating lined with Gold embossed Ceramite rather than corrupted flesh or tainted sinew. Born aloft by 'muscle' of electro-fibre and ancient magna-coils thrumming with the blessed sunburst power of its Reactor Heart, guided not by some feral instinct but the will of a force of will both Ancient and Unrelenting even in death.

Standing easily at over five meters in height and vaguely resembling the outline of a Space Marine, the War-Machine collided with the _Jova_ in a blow more meteor strike than glancing tackle. One that would have doubtless shattered every bone in even an fully armored Astartes' body with careless ease, the force of the impact sending up a spray of icy shrapnel that necessitated the Space Wolf shielding his feral partner lest she be torn apart.

The Maleficarum fared little better, a full half its body appearing to fold in on itself, what was left crumpling to the snowy ground broken if not lifeless.

A fact that would soon change...

 ** _"-HERE DEARG STANDS, XENOS!-"_**

The Venerable Hero dwelling within the shell that was his armor and tomb both voxed once more for all enemies to hear and tremble. Hefting a crackling serrated Power Claw of blood red steel that looked as though it could crush a Land Raider in its mighty talons without effort.

 ** _"-AND HERE...HERE YOUR CHAMPION FALLS!-"_**

Crouching low on hissing hydraulics, the Dreadnought delivered a stabbing thrust to the prone beast, tearing out its chest in a fountain of dark matter before straightening to stomp the misshapen head into jellied paste.

An action that alone sent tremors rocking the world and prompted avalanches in nearby mountain ranges, the world itself quailing before its footfalls.

 ** _"-FOR THE IMPERIUM! FOR THE PRIMARCH!-"_**

"Is that...?" Odd was forced back a lurching step, still shielding the stunned Cyberwolf behind him. Her augmetic senses no doubt scrambled by the influx of noise, and his own faring little better. "...Templar, is that truly what I think it is?"

 **"That would imply a capacity for thought on your part."** Niall replied breathlessly, the levity in his tone lost somewhat under awed reverence. **"But yes, Redtooth. I can see it, and hear it...So beautiful..."**

And that it was, a creation hailing from a time of progress and glory well beyond the present days of darkness and uncertainty. A time when the Allfather himself was not confined upon his Golden Throne and instead walked side by side with the Legions of his Son's Sons.

Armed with its might claw as well as what the Skyclaw dimly recognized as an ancient Assault Cannon of the Kheres Pattern, a predecessor of the smaller Patterns gifted to the vaunted Terminators of modern Chapters, together this machine was perhaps one of the most lethal examples of Warcraft that the Space Wolf had ever seen, a bane of foes upon the field of Battle.

A Contemptor Pattern Dreadnought...

 **"Glory to Him on Terra in this time of doubt!"** Niall's legs buckled gracelessly in his haste to kneel before the Venerable Contemptor, sword driven into the ground before him, helmeted forehead resting against the guard. **"For He has graced his servants with deliverance at the hand of his Immortal Paladin! in His name...Praise be! Praise be!"**

Odd watched the show with dim amusement, before realizing the Dreadnought had ceased its stomping, the corpse having faded to nothingness, and now stood still as a statue regarding them, in much the way one might peer at a semi-interesting insect. Right before crushing it under heel...

"Cease the howling will you? Let us at least see if our new ' _Deliverer_ ' is amiable before dropping to our knees and praising his steps, shall we? Just in case." Bruna growled in worried warning but Odd shushed her swiftly with a firm pat before striding forward to meet their 'savior', _Storm's Heart_ held loosely at the ready as a show of deep respect.

A Warrior bloodsworn of the Rout showed honor by regarding their friends with the same regard as they did their foes, to be ignored or worse dismissed a showing of the greatest insult.

" _Hja,_ Cousin! Fancy meeting one of your uh...stature out in these parts. Enjoying the view as we are?"

 ** _"-...-"_**

The Ancient's terse silence was almost enough to spur Odd to attack, instincts not easily silenced. Small Talk was not a thing that came easily to the sons of Russ.

The Dreadnought wasn't one for humor then, very well, another tactic then... "Let me take a guess, my Iron friend, and say you arrived here from Cadia as well? With the Storm?" Still no response, aside from a slight twitch of the Dreadnought's massive claw, a crackle of energy coursing its way down the tip of a jagged talon. "You must have, your Packmates...your Brothers, were still on the field of battle last I was aware. Though I would have remembered seeing one such as yo...!?"

 _ **"-YOU...YOU KNOW OF THE CHAPTER, SPACE WOLF?-"**_ A voice, low and sonorous, issued like sand from vox-speakers set within the heart of the Contemptor. The tone wary, uncertain...that twitch of a claw becoming a full fledged step that vibrated through Odd's bones, making it difficult to breathe. It was faint, but there was a scent as well.

Old flesh, old bitterness, old anger...

 _ **"-YOU KNOW OF...OF THE OTHERS?-"**_

" _Ha ha_! Indeed...well, some at least! The sigil and colors you bear are known to me, Brazen Claw." ... "As is the doom visited upon the heads of the Despoiler's fell dogs on the Fields of Tyrok, many a Traitor saw their threads cut short under your Brothers' steel. Admittedly your Packs gave the mortals quite a fright with that sudden appearance, fearing more traitors no doubt!?"

As it turns out, that had been the wrong thing to say. The Contemptor loosing a snarl as fierce as the Ice Wyrms that dwelt beneath in the glacial depths of the Aett back on distant Fenris, Assault Cannon whirring to dangerous life, claw now crackling in a way that set Redtooth's hair on end.

 _ **"-WE ARE NO TRAITORS! DEARG IS NO TRAITOR! WE STAND LOYAL! DEARG STANDS! DEARG STANDS...!-"**_

Niall cursed loudly though the words were lost as the incoherent roars in a guttural tongue, corrupted further by vox-distortion, overwhelmed even his armor's dampening systems. Odd and his wolf didn't even have that luxury, the Space Wolf quite certain he felt liquid warmth dribbling from his eardrums.

Still he had to stand resolute, show no hesitation. Know no fear...even in the face of a Mad Giant.

"O-Of course you do, Cousin! Of course!"

He grinned a wolfish smirk through gritted fangs, staring into the helm like sensor array that comprised the Contemptor's 'Head'. Such Warriors didn't like to be reminded of their state, Odd had interacted with enough of his own Chapter's Sacred Ancients, especially those Battle-Brothers entombed in similar Dreadnought Patterns.

Contempters were powerful forces of violence upon the battlefield, but had a reputation among the Space Wolves as being particularly...erratic. Overly savage, the natures of noble Warriors buried beneath the ferocity of the bestial spirit housed within the machine.

Combine such a fate with the passing of ages, millennia spent in an endless cycle of fierce war both internal and external, isolation from ones kin, and the dreamless sleep of stasis it was no wonder the lasting effects on the mind of even an Astartes could be...severe.

This one seemed little different, the Ancient Warrior settling into a feral hunch despite the grinding of protesting metal plates. Servo-bundles twitching as synaptic impulses stemming from the Space Marine within wracked its metal body, attempting to show in iron what they once would have in flesh. Humor did not seem to work, so perhaps blunt truth...

"You must be loyal. Else wise the Rout would have no doubt painted the field red with the blood of your kin, as is our _Wyrd_ set by the Allfather himself." The Apothecary gagged, and even his Wolf stared back at her companion with a look of minor disbelief.

Of the Contemptor their was again only silence, and then a broken series of shrieking caterwauls that set Odd's fangs rattling in his gums. For a moment he wondered if the Ancient was screaming again, and if the next few seconds might just be his last. And then he realized that the War Machine wasn't crying out, he was laughing...a sound that was somehow even more disconcerting.

"Heh heh...Nothing personal, mind you. And it mattered little in the end."

 _ **"-I...YES...DEARG GREETS YOU THEN, SON OF FENRIS.-"**_ Speaking in third person, a common enough sign of degradation in Dreadnought implantees, their identity subsumed by the Machine. This case was actually quite minor in a way. _**"-THIS SARCOPHAGUS DETECTED A SWELL OF XENOS ACTIVITY CENTERED IN THIS REGION, THOUGH IT WAS NOT UNTIL COMING IN RANGE OF YOUR ARMORS' SIGNUM BEACON THAT DEARG KNEW OF YOUR EXISTENCE-"**_ A momentary tension as the Dreadnought chassis shifted, leaning to examine the Space Marine at its feet.

 _"And your allegiance..."_ The unspoken threat of his twitching claws appeared to convey in no uncertain terms. Each one capable of shearing apart a Space Marine clad even in full Terminator Plate with nigh laughable ease.

It was perhaps a testament to the desperation felt amidst the destruction wrought at the Despoiler's hands that the Brazen Claw's would even risk, with his mind so scattered and his tempers so obivously raw, waking such a Warrior from his well-earned slumber.

There was a reason the _Rout_ only employed their Honored Dead in the most dire circumstances, lest their souls be born down by the weight of their trials.

It was Glory beyond death, but a lonely and arduous nonetheless. Forever denied the companionship of the Pack, forced to watch those set still firmly in life pass you by to obtain further glories as you slumber away the centuries, the knowledge that when you wake it is likely they will have long faded into memory.

" _Hjolda,_ Ancient...Dearg, is it?"

A meager twitch of the helm apparatus, an attempt at a nod perhaps? Progress! "Brother Dearg then, it warms my hearts as well to know we are not alone in Dreaming this place, though you did steal my Prey." Another nervous grunt from the Templar, the Son of Dorn watching the back and forth with a tensed Cyberwolf by his side. Still it had to be said, Odd had claimed the _Jova's_ skull as his own after all.

"Though I won't hold it against you, Friend. It was well earned!"

 ** _"-SON...SON OF THE WOLF KING...-"_**

"Aye! My brothers know me as Odd Redtooth, Glorious Skyclaw of the _Vlka Fenryka. B_ lood-sworn to the Great Company of Jarl Sven Bloodhowl...or so I was."

If the Dreadnought had, or even could, notice the tension in those words, it gave no sign. A fact for which Redtooth was grateful, his gauntlet seeking Bruna's fur and finding some measure of comfort and offering some in turn.

"And this fetching vision at my side is Bruna, e _inherjar_ in service of the _Rout._ Sworn Companion of Odd Redtooth, Slayer of the Greenskin Warboss Grakus Bazgal the 'Scourge of Seshat' in single combat, Troll-Bane, Huntress of the Fenrisian Ash Wastes, Lady of..."

 **"Ahem..."** A firm grip fastened upon Odd's pauldron, the Templar almost earning a fist for the act rather than recognition. Never good to startle a Sky-Warrior of the _Vlka,_ though he could be forgiven.

"Ah yes, pardon Cousin I did not forget. This rather dreary soul here calls himself...!?"

 **"Brother Apothecary Niall of the Black Templars. Servant of the Emperor and the Eternal Crusade."**

The Flesh Weaver took it upon himself to make proper introduction, no doubt distrusting the Space Wolf to focus on the specifics and hoping to stick to decorum. Even going so far as to unfasten the neck seals about his armored gorget in a whistle of air pressure, lifting the custom helm to reveal once noble statuesque features the color and consistency of rawhide ocher leather, marred and puckered by several lifetimes worth of scars earned across dozens of worlds under alien suns.

The worst of which left much of the upper left side of his bare scalp a mask of burnt wax-like tissue, an augmetic shining a fierce crimson from where the eye had been consumed. The other a warm pool of pale amber, stern, ageless...Odd hoped his eyes didn't look like that.

" _Ahhh_...Sworn in Service to the Banner of Marshal Marius Amalrich." Without the distorting effects of his Helm, the Templar's voice wasn't nearly so grating. A calm even tone fit for an orator, a preacher, or more simply a caregiver. Though Odd had met enough of his Cousin's ilk to know that such a tone would easily rise to heights untold in veneration of the Allfather, the Emperor. "Charged by High Marshall Helbrecht with the prosecution of the Cadian Crusade against the forces of Abaddon and his foul ilk. An Honor to stand before one of the Emperor's Immortals, Lord."

 _ **"-THE HONOR IS DEARG'S. HE DID NOT THINK TO MEET ANOTHER LOYAL SON OF THE IMPERIUM IN THIS STRANGE PLACE, MUCH LESS TWO.-"**_

 _T_ he Dreadnought's chassis rotated, evoking the impression of a war-weary warrior gazing out at an unknown wilderness. The emotion however was genuine, if concealed by the morose echo of the ancient speakers. How old was the man inside that walking cage? How many wars had he made, threads had he cut?

Wait...that scent...

 **"Excuse me, Lord Dearg, did you say you met another Space Marine. Before us...?"**

 _ **"-DEARG DID, THE NEOPHYTE...IT WAS HE WHO GREETED DEARG IN THIS PLACE...HE WHO...NEOPHYTE!-"**_

"H-Here, My Lord!"

A voice of a higher pitch, lacking both the distorting influence of a helm or even the usual bass authoritative timbre of experience most Space Marines grew into. The scent in Odd's mind resolving itself into a staggering dark haired youth working his way ardently through the thick snow underfoot. Trailing in the path left by the great Dreadnought's initial charge, staring at them all with wide blue eyes both nervous yet determined.

Smaller and leaner of build than a true Astartes, the boy nevertheless was taller and broader than any mere mortals had any right to be, especially one so obviously in the grasp of adolescence.

Already showing signs of the myriad physical effects induced through gene-craft in his nascent patrician features, as well as the first hints of developing hyper-muscle at work underneath layers of deep blue painted carapace plate, the symbol of his chapter showing proudly in white on one buffed shoulder plate opposite the numeral 'X'.

The broad squarish outline of a bolter slung across his shoulder, and a sword...a well worn gladius Odd noted with passing interest, hanging at his belt off balanced.

"Apologies, Lord Dearg. I was...hah...I was delayed by more of the local wildlife drawn in your wake. And your tread...I couldn't hope to...!?"

 **"-DEARG DOESN'T WANT EXCUSES! YOU FELL BEHIND DEARG, NEOPHYTE! YOU WERE SLOW, BE BETTER NEXT TIME!-"**

"I...Yes, Venerable One. I understand." The Dreadnought wasn't listening, his point evidently made.

"Oh ho! Have a look at this, Flesh Weaver!" Redtooth stalked closer with a grin, in his power armor looming head and shoulders above the chastened lad. The boy holding his ground, if only just, his nose wrinkled at the heavy musk wafting off the Space Wolf. "An Ultramarine Pup, eh!? I've never seen one of their Blood Claws in the flesh before." He sniffed, narrowing his eyes dangerously, "Little _Tilbrád,_ scurrying about...so small."

"Scout Lividus, Ultramarines Tenth Company!" The Scout snapped to attention and stood tall as he could, grimacing as the effect was ruined somewhat by his scabbard flopping about. His stance all wrong, unused to the extra weight hanging opposite his combat knife. "Seconded to the Honor Company under Captain Echion, sworn in defense of the Cadian Gate."

"I served with your Captain Echion, Boy."

Niall regarded the boy, this time putting the Ultramarine back a step. The memories of the surgeries undergone at the hands of his own Chapter's Apothecaries clearly still in his mind.

"His actions and those of his fellows are worthy of great praise, lauded by the High Marshall himself. You claim to stand in his Company, you, a mere Neophyte?"

The Challenge was clear, as was the implied insult.

"A great honor, Lord Apothecary." Lividus declared, not quite defensively though close to it. Glaring the Apothecary in the face, an act that had Odd nodding in approval despite himself. "One earned not absent great effort and dedicated service. Meant as a chance to serve and learn at the feet of the finest of my Bloodline."

"No one's doubting your right, Pup." Odd interjected swiftly, moving to block the Apothecary as he made to advance, Bruna doing the same to the tiny Ultramarine. Niall seemed ready to declare otherwise, the words becoming a low growl in his throat as Odd tapped his ax blade across his breastplate hard enough to ring like a bell. "You fought on the Fortress World, yes?"

"Indeed, my Lord. I...!?"

"I'm no Lord, Redtooth will do."

"Y-Yes, Redtooth, we saw battle aboard the Space Hulks the Despoiler used to transport his mortal soldiers. Most recently _The Herald of Grief,_ destroyed via Seismic detonator." The pride in his voice was almost enough to put a smile back on Odd's face, though the implication was there beneath the surface, a nod seeing the boy continue. "We...My Brother Initiates and I in the Scout Squad were fighting our way back toward the Extraction Point when we were pinned down by surviving Traitor Marines. My Squad Sergeant and were caught out by a Sorcerer, exposed, when suddenly this strange light filled the corridor we were fighting in. After that..."

"You woke up here, and met our metal friend?" A somber nod, a hand drifting to the hilt of the gladius. That question left unasked, the answer clear. The scout was here, his Sergeant however... "Well, an Ultramarine, even a Pup, is welcome. From the sagas, its clear your Chapter's _Wyrd_ has something of reputation for good fortune."

"The deeds and honors attributed to the scions of Ultramar are due to skill, my Lor...?" He blanched at the glowering look the Space Wolf laid him with, gulping audibly to ears of every trans-human present. "N-Not...Not simple luck."

"Of course it is. Still we were rather fortunate we met up with you both all the same, you especially Honored One!" He nodded to the Dreadnought, receiving a mimicked gesture in return, more mirror than a reciprocation of respect.

 _ **"-DEARG WAS...FORTUNATE. FORTUNATE HE FOLLOWED THE BLEATING BINARY...SO LOUD...SO GRATING...-"**_

"Binary?" Niall's flesh and blood brow rose, the Templar and Wolf sharing a startled look between them, the latter shrugging broad shoulders. "The tongue of the Martian Priests? Then the disruption playing over the Vox was...Blast it, I should have recognized...!?"

"It is...well, it is an old dialect, Lord Apothecary." Lividus piped up, the scent and eagerness of youth heavy upon him, though in this he seemed almost reluctant. "Quite simple as well, broken yet basic in the extreme, and..."

 _ **"-AND**_ ** _VERY GRATING TO DEARG...IT SHOULD CEASE LEST IT BE CRUSHED..._** _ **-"**_ The Ancient intoned, voice rising once more in a growl that was fast becoming familiar. The Scout taking the hint and silencing himself abruptly, standing awkwardly at loose parade rest.

"Peace, my metal Friend, at least for the moment." Redtooth chuckled, hoping to head off the impulses quickly as Bruna loosed a harsh bark of warning and Niall replaced his helm in preparation. "The Red Robes aren't very useful when crushed underfoot, at least in my experience." That jibe earned another sidelong look from the Templar and an exasperated whine from Bruna, Odd merely smiling another wolfish smirk in response to both. "What, so many clicking parts. So delicate..."

 **"The Wolf is correct in this assertion, if crass. We lack proper knowledge of our situation, the circumstances that saw us here, and most importantly the state of what we left behind."** A stoic nod, a growl, and a low burble of rumbling internal actuators within the ancient Contemptor met this dark revelation. **"Our duty to both Imperium and Emperor is clear, our war not yet done. We must pursue any lead, however small, that may see us rejoining our Brothers."**

"Or avenging them." Odd added, grip tightening visibly around _Stormcaller's_ scarred haft as the weapon shuddered in his grasp, it's Spirit hungering for battle once more.

No...the weapon merely echoed the heart of the wielder, the kill-urge burning underneath the easy smirks and japes. A tenseness of the jaw, a stirring in the breast that threatened to jump his secondary heart into action, a coppery sweet tang on his tongue as natural stimulants coursed through his gene-hanced physiology.

"We can't be certain we alone were stolen away to this place, nor that any others walk in the Allfather's sight. Their _wyrd_ saw them here, let it be to fall under our steel."

 **"So, we follow the signal, determine its source and allegiance, and pray that He on Terra grants us a path by which to follow. Or foes upon which to vent his Wrath."** The Templar spoke, directing that last directive towards the two wolves, both Transhuman and beast alike. He even tried to reach out for Bruna's hackles tentatively before a low snarl saw him wisely reconsider.

She must've taken a liking to the Flesh Weaver, usually the Cyberwolf stole away the limbs that tried such, aside from Odd himself.

 **"We would welcome your presence, Honored One. Your Sarcophagus is mighty indeed, and your zeal twice so. You will follow our lead?"** He didn't bother asking after the Scout's intentions, the answer to him never in doubt. Though he thought he might've heard something about 'Theoretical' and 'Practical'.

 _ **"-A LOGICAL COURSE OF ACTION, DEARG APPROVES.-"**_

The Contemptor lurched into trundling motion, sounding almost excited at the prospect of renewed purpose, slow steps swiftly becoming a charge through the devolving blizzard that try as they might Odd, Niall, and even Bruna failed to match.

Who had Dearg been, a Chapter Hero clearly to ear eternity in such a Tomb but of what age and stripe? Did the once trio now walk in the presence of a venerated Brother fallen in glorious battle? A new blood fallen before his time in an act of honorable sacrifice? A Jarl, a former Chapter Master...?

 ** _"-COME BROTHERS...WE MUST...W-WE MUST REJOIN THE LEGION!..."_** The newly formed quartet of the living halted abruptly, or at least those struggling to trail in the wake of the mighty War-Machine did. Neither sure they had heard the Dreadnought correctly. **"** ** _AUTEK WAS CORRECT, THIS IS NO TIME TO MOURN OUR LOSS...-"_**

"Eh?"

 **"Venerable Dearg, I...I'm afraid we don't quite follow! Could you...!?"**

Dearg did not slow, or even acknowledge that his companions had fallen away, so intent was he on his new task to the exclusion of all else. Niall left shaking his helmeted head, Odd looking in in bemused disquiet while the Ultramarine pup shifted uncomfortably.

"What was that he said? Rejoin the ' _Legion_ ', as in before the Warmaster's treachery? And who's this 'Autek'?"

"I do not know, Lor...uh, Redtooth. Since we encountered one another, the Lord Dearg has been um...less than forthcoming with such things." Lividus said, shrinking back under a look from the two Veterans, indoctrination warring with curiosity. "His sacred Tomb appears undamaged, although I can't be certain until...nevermind."

Ah, so the Scout had some knowledge of Machines then? Or he was merely arrogant, as the Sons of Guiliman were wont to be.

 **"Those trials the Chapters' Immortals endure can prove arduous, Neophyte. And not always of the flesh."** The Apothecary spoke, voice low as though fearing Dearg might overhear, meant to instruct. **"Such a battle would be far more simple, and within my scope to treat."**

"Lord?"

Niall needn't have bothered lowering his voice, the Dreadnought having long ventured ahead, leaving a trail of large depressions and slurry in his wake, a perfect trail to follow even over distance.

 **"Their Honor is boundless, their devotion to Him on Terra unquestionable and their experience valuable beyond measure. But their minds, especially those clearly as ancient as this one, can be..."** He didn't dare insult Dearg further by insinuating or voicing his thoughts, he didn't need too.

Odd felt no such compunction, the Space Wolves a blunt and straightforward Chapter. It was their way to voice the truth, however unsavory.

"So, brave Warriors, mightiest of their kind, led through a strange land of Beasts aplenty by the whim of an Ancient Madman in a metal shell." He murmured soberly, seeking Bruna's comforting warmth once more, biting back a curse even as a rogue thrill of excitement pulsed through him. "Ah _Fekke_ , what a Saga that'll be to tell, eh?"

 **"Twenty-Four, Wolf."**

The Son of Russ' eyebrows shot up at the Templar's words, the Apothecary already resuming his stride with the Ultramarine and Bruna in tow. "Mm? What was that, Flesh Weaver?"

 **"My count, Twenty-Four. Seems I'm winning our little race, just thought you should be made aware."** The smug expression was clear, even underneath the helm, a snicker of hearty challenge. **"Do try to keep up, will you?"**

Where once the sounds of battle and anger had raged throughout the Frozen Expanse, now their was only laughter. The joyful howls of a wolf who'd met his match.

 _'Perhaps this venture might prove worthwhile after all...'_

* * *

 **\- END**

* * *

 **A/N: Well, been awhile everybody, not that I have much of an excuse other than these last few weeks being crazy for work and a graduation trip for the whole family half way across the US.** **I haven't abandoned this though, you can be sure of that. I'm actually surprised how much support this story has gotten so far, and I hope it proves worthy of it now we've got Imperial boots on Remnant.**

 **+Four Space Marines/Four Chapters+**

 **\- Odd Redtooth of the Space Wolves, Skyclaw. As well as Bruna the Cyberwolf (Saw that on the WH40K Wiki, just had to throw one of those in.)**

 **\- Niall of the Black Templars, Apothecary. (For good ol' genetic purity and dissection of the unclean Xenos. See the Helsreach Animation by Richard Boylan for inspiration on how he looks, in fact just go see it on Youtube if you haven't.)**

 **\- Lividus of the Ultramarines, Scout. (Wanted to have a scout in this story, it provides a good perspective I think. Never fear, he's not the only one.)**

 **\- Ancient Dearg of the Brazen Claws. (Because Dreadnoughts are amazing. As for him being a Contemptor, with the Brazen Claws being a Second Founding Chapter I thought it appropriate. He's old, grouchy, and a bit senile, with the power to take on Atlas. What could go wrong?)**

 **Hope they were entertaining or at least fittingly Space Marine-esque, a bit harder to write I've found then normal Mortals like Lux or Sister Delphine.**

 **This chapter was originally quite a bit longer, but rather than delay I chose to spit it up like the first few chapters, I swear I'll get a standard length down eventually...I hope. Expect at least three more Astartes in the next chapter before we focus on our other arrivals once again, any more than that and Chaos might not have a fair fight on their hands.** **\- Mojo**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 5 - For Those We Cherish-**

* * *

 **" _And so, the grey-clad came from the outer night, and their jagged maw did swallow the stars, and their black gaze did mirror the void of oblivion. Their pale shadows fell upon the servants of the skulled-one with great fury from the darkness, unseen as the beast that lurks beneath the black waters, death for death, blood for blood... Thus were the sons of Sanguinius bought respite, and did turn back upon their pursuers, and so were the damned traitors of the false gods driven unto their ruin._ "**

— _Canticle of Cassandra Lev_ , Vol. CVI, Chapter One, Paragraph 28

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Anima - Lake Matsu Shoreline)**

 _"Fear is the greatest weakness of all, for more reasons than just the Grimm."_ Those had been her Leader's words, 'one of life's many lessons' as Branwen had phrased it. Stern if not fair, but so was life. _"Fear poisons resolve, eroding strength and focus. Fear has no place in the Tribe, no place here among our number. Remember that, Vernal..."_

Vernal did remember, and she wasn't afraid. At least she didn't believe that she was, more...uneasy.

Understandable, given the day she'd had out on patrol, sunlit blue swiftly giving way to bruised dusk. The shattered moon appearing dull in the sky above, not the shining beacon it usually was. As though some sickly green film layer had been stretched across the evening tapestry overhead.

By all rights she should've checked in back at the camp hours ago but that blasted storm, whatever it was or wherever it had come from, had played havoc with her Scroll and those of her fellows, not to mention delayed their planned arrival.

Vernal had thought herself used to storms, Mistral and the wilds of greater Anima were full of them, especially round these parts. The Gravity Dust that made up the floating islands of Lake Matsu were well-known for causing all sorts of unusual mischief with the weather, but this had been beyond simply 'unusual'.

A roiling shroud of whirling dark clouds the color of Grimm flesh that had come out of nowhere to swallow a clear day. Raging with a thunder that sounded more like children screaming than any natural phenomena. Pulsing with a horrific shade of bloody half life that lanced forth every so often like bursts of false sunshine.

Some of the men with her, that blithering moron Shay in particular, had complained of seeing other things in the gale too the longer they looked at it. And so had she, though she hadn't entertained their fearful whimpering.

Things she couldn't describe...

Bizarre undulating shapes weaving throughout the heavens as though alive, with minds all their own. Cavorting in bounding leaps upon clawed limbs and twisted hooves, gleeful smiles alight on twisted faces...and then the whispers, oh gods the whispers...

Unaccountable, otherworldly mutterings playing out in tongues she could just barely understand enough. Murmurings lapping at the corners of her conscious mind, sounding oh so close, but when she turned to look over her shoulder...nothing. Just the awkward suspicious looks flickering across the faces of her people, wondering what their fearless leader was jumping at.

But it wasn't that there were whispers, which was bad enough, but what they'd said. Dark things, things she'd never told anyone...desires, dreams...all of the voices promising the world if she'd only just...

 _'No way we were moving about with THAT hanging over our heads. No way in hell...'_ She'd shuddered, feeling somehow dirtied by just those few glimpses alone. The murmurs continuing on long into the afternoon, following her like insects buzzing at the interior of her skull, more demanding now.

And so Vernal had denied them, just like every other force that had sought to bend her to its will. Ordering her men into the caves along the shoreline to wait the storm out, however long that took.

Not that the motion had gone over quietly by any means, The others had complaining heartily at the idea, knowing Raven and how harshly she looked upon any sort of delay or misstep.

Any hold up was likely to end with the lot of them pulling watch and laundry detail for the foreseeable future, and none enjoyed the thought of being outside the Camp's walls slumming it with the Grimm and whatever this weird weather pattern was for any longer than strictly necessary.

Vernal had understood and even secretly agreed with the sentiment, despite her outward denials to the contrary. However she looked, the jagged outline of their chosen bolthole giving off the distinct impression of some great jaw distending to swallow the lot of them whole, though had put her foot down regardless of even her own grave misgivings.

No one had been overly willing to argue with the Boss' favored lieutenant for long, no one smart anyway. Though for a moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, Vernal had thought she might've even had to draw her weapons on some of the more vocal bunch. An odd false instinct towards some perceived treachery that never came to pass.

Tensing despite herself, Vernal noted how trembling hands subconsciously seemed to be reaching for knives of slung rifles every time she looked. Or shooting lecherous glances her way, not that the Lieutenant wasn't used to that either...she knew how she looked, and used it on occasion to get what she wanted. Another tool in her toolbox, but this...this was different.

There was a note of insanity in the leers, almost hungry in their intensity...and they weren't alone in the feeling.

Against all sense and reason, Vernal wanted a fight, craved one even. And not just a good brawl either, if the warmth building on her cheeks was anything to go by. A thin sheen of sweat building across her brow as her breath went curiously ragged, body betraying rational thought.

It had been when she'd started fidgeting, actually admiring how Shay's jawline caught the angle of the false light of their scrolls, that she knew for certain something just _had_ to be wrong.

Rarely ever had she felt so disconnected from herself, so worked up. The temptation to give in and let loose, to go utterly wild in every primal sense of the word...to act on any inane impulse no matter how deviant or violent.

But this was her family...these were her people, she couldn't, she _wouldn't_...no, _no_! Ignore the whispering!

Vernal was strong, far stronger than whatever this mania was. Raven trusted her above all others, she couldn't let her savior down. She'd beat this, just like she had every other struggle in her life.

That will, that promise, became her mantra to keep the worst of the gnawing tension at bay. And it saved her life, though she didn't know how she knew that. An odd feeling made all the more feverish as a cold chill ran down her spine.

* * *

So they had stayed put...

Waiting out the rumbling intensity out of nightmare raging just beyond the threshold of their shelter.

All the while trying to ignore the fetid stench of decay and hopelessness that seemed to hang about the air of the cavern like a shroud. Or the unnatural way the shadows seemed to move independently of their owners actions. Flickering about at the edges of the dim light cast by their Scrolls, chattering and cackling, reaching out with grasping clawed appendages ...

Those Vernal had tried to push aside in favor of other matters...not that those had been all fun and campfire stories either.

Especially when the Grimm had joined the party. Drawn in response to the ingrained negativity of the storm that weighed on the mood despite her best efforts to waylay it. Frenzied and driven wild, far beyond what the Bandits were used to seeing from the soulless creatures.

Packs of Beowolves, pods of Creeps, whole flocks of juvenile Nevermore...a veritable demi-horde birthed out of nightmare all but throwing themselves over one another into barely organized salvos of overlapping gunfire with utter reckless abandon only to be cut down under the fusillade. The defenders, already suffering under the sinister influence of the Storm above, they barely had to aim in order to hit something trying to rend them apart.

To their eyes it was as though the myriad mass of Grimm forms had merged together into a single gaseous wave of dark matter that merely existed to funnel itself into the mouth of the cavern and consume those with souls within.

A vast conglomeration that filled the sense utterly. Burning with pinprick flashes of glistening white teeth and fiery crimson orbs glaring back at them, shapeless mouths loosing keening wails and high-pitched howls that to Vernal's ears sounded an awful lot like passionate exultation, cheering...no matter how the lightning Dust she threw back at them crackled and blasted apart.

She'd ignored the cries...delighting instead in just how wonderful it felt to put the corrupt beasts down for good. Her fingers barely able to pull themselves aside from the triggers of her weapons long enough to reload and resume beating back the assault.

A vicious, seemingly endless cycle of violent back and forth with the Grimm hurling themselves forward in cruel spite of their losses. Seeking only to drown the beleaguered Bandits under a tidal press of jet black bodies...

Deep down, even though she knew going in against these things, in these vast numbers especially, was tantamount to suicide, the Lieutenant had wanted to get in close. To maim corrupted tissue under her curved crescent blades, to kill the hopes of every monster that sought to reach her comrades, to burn sinew under the heated barrels of her weapons.

She'd wanted to feel warm blood across her skin, experience the thrill of slaughter as steel cut dissolving flesh, of massacre in the dozens no, in the hundreds...

The young woman had almost given into the temptation...but she didn't. She'd held true to herself.

And in doing so Vernal had kept her head and her life. Biting her lip so hard it pierced her Aura and left it bleeding, doing her best to wrangle the other bloodthirsty idiots without her self control even if she had to physically shove them back to cool down, though each loss in the line was felt.

The Grimm had no such worry, either they would break through the dwindling force arrayed against them by sheer weight of numbers, or the bandits dwindling supply of ammunition would finally fail them, either way they would prevail.

That was until the horde had simply _ceased_...

Vernal wasn't entirely certain when it had happened, but seconds, minutes, or hours later the Grimm line had broken under their efforts as had the storm after a fashion...or more accurately moved on further into the distance, staining the sky in its wake a murky purple like a bruise, a wound in the heavens above. The horde followed in its wake, leaving their exhausted prey in wide eyed disbelief.

Some dropping to their knees and bursting into relieved tears, others crying out that the storm was some kind of miracle, an act of the gods...

Vernal had tried to dismiss that too, shushing those who wouldn't stop their muttering and speculation, all while doing her best to keep some measure of composure. More for her comfort than the others, as she knew just how close they had come, and it was by no act of stubbornness that she and her men were still breathing.

Of course, it also didn't matter if the Grimm were guided by some overarching force or simply decided to skip the dinner bell, Vernal certainly wouldn't be dissuading them otherwise.

Miraculously, despite the insensate violence of the attack, they'd gotten off without losing a soul. Breaking free from the bullet riddled cave mouth and fleeing at all speed through the trees despite their weariness in a desperate bid to get back home.

Back behind the imagined safety of its walls...

* * *

It was as they'd been rounding the shoreline, doubling back to avoid a Deathstalker Nest that definitely hadn't been their when they'd first passed through that Vernal spotted it...no, strike that.

That was when she spotted _him,_ a lone figure lying at the edge of the lapping waters. Quite unlike anyone or anything she'd ever seen before in her life.

For one, at first glance from a distance he looked like some damned corpse the Lake's gravity well had dredged up. Deathly pale and bloated beyond reason, an unfortunate lost in the storm maybe? Didn't really matter she supposed.

At least this way her beleaguered bandits may be able to salvage something from this nightmare of a day after all with a bit of looting.

Besides, it wasn't like this corpse was gonna need his supplies after all, and it would go to a good cause, making sure she and hers survived another day.

Of course as they drew closer, _that_ was when things got really weird.

Upon closer inspection, she found that the corpse he wasn't bloated at all, at least not in the usual manner of a cadaver, even if his skin was so pallid she imagined she could see the stark trails of capillaries and other veins just beneath the surface. His bulky mass wasn't from distended flesh or rotting meat, but steel dense muscle layered over a shockingly lean physique standing easily a head taller and broader than any man Vernal had ever seen.

All that further padded by thick flak plating and fatigues the color of deepest night stained a shockingly vibrant crimson about a fist sized hole in his side.

Obvious enough what had done the fellow in at a glance, the wound bearing all the hallmarks of a Lancer shot. No getting up after that, even before the venom set in. Bad luck for him, though if the stinger was gone that probably meant the Grimm that had loosed it probably was as well.

The guy had taken his killer with him in the end. She supposed some people might go for that sort of thing.

The wound looked a bit strange though, too old to have been the sort of sudden death it should have been. The blood thick and clotted about the edges...

"Wha...what is this guy supposed... _ah...s_ upposed to be, eh!?"

Shay grunted irritatingly through his exertions as he and his fellow dragged the body further up onto the beach. Dropping the hefty weight unceremoniously at her feet in a sandy crunch of freakishly muscled weight and sodden body armor before flashing her one of his patented smirks.

The kind that made her wanna take a few teeth out in the bargain...

"I mean check out the size of im'...found ourselves a proper giant!" He prodded at their find with the butte of his rifle, tentatively as though worried their 'Giant' would snap awake at any moment. "Just like in the old fairy tales, think he came outta the storm?"

"Hmph? Who knows and who cares, not us. That is unless he brought his Goose with him."

"Goose?"

"Uh...yeah, the Goose that lays the golden eggs? The one the Giant keeps with him? Like the one in the story you were just... _gah_ never mind!"

Vernal shook her head, pushing the grumbling irritant aside roughly and kneeling down to get a closer look at their find, examining the stark white Emblems on his shoulder plates. A stylized 'X' marking, opposite what was clearly supposed to be a bird of some sort...more weird...though she'd seen Huntsmen take on stranger emblems. As though the lot of em' were trying to out do one another.

"Go take a look around, will you? Make yourself useful!"

She wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting, brushing aside strands of roughly chin-length hair the color of fresh ink. A gritty scarred up veteran with a face contorted by pain, a misshapen ogre with too few teeth...maybe some crazy Faunus trait to help explain the size.

Certainly not the surprisingly youthful features staring back at her, that was for sure. The man...no, boy looking barely older than she herself was. Sharp featured, almost avian in bearing, with a long nose, defined if sunken cheekbones, and a strong chin. Frozen tense as though in discomfort, but other than that the young man could've been sleeping.

"What the hell were you?" She breathed softly, unaware her voice had carried until a gleeful shout had her leaping to her feet. Hands darting to the compressed weapons at her waist, her attention turning to where the majority of her men had gathered further down the beach.

The lot of them were huddled around a dark mass of overturned metal and plate lodged halfway in a dune. Its outline vaguely resembling that of a motorcycle, similar to those some of her fellows kept back around the camp.

That was where the similarities ended though, this bike easily twice the size of any she'd seen. Bulked out further with thick exhaust feeds, armored plates the same shade as their doomed friend's flak armor, and sporting a pair of ridiculously over sized guns set between the handlebars.

Upon closer inspection, she saw it was laden with far more besides, a dulled combat blade the length of her forearm, lengthy bandoleers of what might've been grenades...if one sought to blow up a few Kingdom blocks that is...

"Obvious what he was, ain't it? Fancy all this gear he was packin'!" Another of her Bandits called from closer by, dredging a ridiculously over sized hunk of scrap almost as long as she herself was. "I mean, look at this thing!" At first Vernal had thought it some kind of spear, needing a moment to register the scope and large caliber barrel that were the bread and butter of any decently designed sniper rifle. A rifle sized to fit a giant, designed to slay monsters... "And if you think that's wild, V, check the heft of these rounds!" He tossed her a shell that was practically the length of her hand and so dense she had to hold it with both hands, quite unlike any design of Dust round she'd ever seen.

It's steely surface embossed with a double headed eagle sigil and a small engraving along the base.

"Victorus Aut Mortis?" She mouthed the words and unfamiliar syllables, unsure of what they meant if anything at all. Wasn't any language she'd ever seen, and she'd seen more than a few on contraband and smuggled goods. "Heh, gods...Think you could blow the head off a Taijitsu with this thing. And there's more?"

"Right?" He motioned to where a red-faced shay stood, using the butte of his rifle to lever open a hidden compartment in the side of the the giant's doom wagon. Row upon row of similar rounds of ammunition, many bearing such distinct insignia and other forms of artistry that Vernal could've sold the casings alone for a hefty sum. "You wanted a golden egg, well here it is! Bugger was a Huntsman for sure, had to...h- _hey_!?"

Vernal had noticed it too, the slightest of shudders wracking the supposed corpse, but it didn't mean she could move fast enough even if she'd had time to register what was happening.

Abruptly she found herself with her back on the sand and from the feel of it bruised all to hell, the giant 'corpse' hunched above her. Broad shovel-like hands closed around her forearms like handcuffs, stronger even and she would know, pinning them at her sides.

From the whiplash aching in her neck, he must've carried her over onto the ground bodily, tossing her about like some overeager kid with a doll...

 _'When had that happened?...'_

The Thief hadn't even seen him move, one moment he'd been lying on the ground, the next...the next he was looking down at her with cold black eyes. Literally black eyes devoid of any trace of white, seemingly without depths or mercy.

A chasm that caught her gaze and held her transfixed and unable to look away. Something about him stole the breath away from her lungs. A dread and awe she couldn't quite put into words...something inhuman, no... _beyond_ human.

 _'Fear poisons resolve, eroding strength and focus. Fear has no place in the Tribe, no place here among our number...'_

 _"Humanum?"_ His voice was strained by discomfort, but clear enough when it finally tore free from his lips. A deep rumbling cadence from a soul more used to whispering than actual speech. And of course he was muttering gibberish, lovely. " _Úbi sum? Quid est hoc?"_

 _"_ I-I don't...what!?" His brow furrowed at her answer, not exactly a comforting sight with eyes like those, but Vernal kept her nerve. Gritting her teeth into a defiant smirk. "Not so dead after all, are you?"

" _Humilis Antiqua?_ Speak Low Gothic? _"_

The rest of her party cried out in alarm, leveling their guns but unwilling to fire with her so close. A fact for which she was grateful, though more than a few looked ready to take the chances. All it would take is one spark, and she and her attacker would be so little more than red smears across the beach. Not that their 'Giant' seemed to care a whit,

Oh gods he was massive, and seeing him move too just brought it all home...fast, so terrifyingly fast. But up close as she was she noticed other things too with that hard earned instinct Raven had gone so far to impart in her.

A sluggishness visible in his motions now that he had her pinned, like a drunk or someone stirred awake after a long nap. A tick of pain above his brow from the wound in his side that had reopened and was now dripping all over her vest. A single bleeding nostril that seemed somewhat out of place...weaknesses to exploit.

These were the things that could keep a girl alive in a world of brutes and blokes bigger than you, the things that saw her knee rising to stab deep at the exposed wound.

And it worked, even if it felt like she'd just driven the limb into solid concrete, her attacker let loose a pained snarl and relaxing his grip for a fraction of a second. More than enough time for an enterprising young woman to wrench herself free, drawing upon her Aura for the strength to break his hold, much to Pale-Face's evident astonishment.

Always the astonishment...priceless. That expression when they realized the little girl had just put them on their ass.

Not a bad look on him actually, truth be told. Especially once she had him squirming underneath her, straddling his waist with her legs pinning his arms and both weapons drawn and at the ready.

One leveled squarely in his startled face, the other placed in perfect position to drive a curved blade home into his wound if the need arose. A wound which had again somehow managed to seal itself, but no flash of Aura...interesting.

"I...I am Raaf Praeto, Neophyte Astartes of the Raven Guard! Son of noble Corax!" The now named Raaf seethed from gritted teeth spitefully, seeming quite nonplussed as to why he couldn't dislodge a woman little more than half his size. That was good, it kept him off balance, right where she wanted him. "In the Emperor's name, you will... _rrgh_? Y-You will release me at once, Mortal!"

"Oh, so you can speak. Good, now only if you'd start speaking sense we might get somewhere."

An idea formed in Vernal's mind, one that put a smug snicker on her face as she adjusted herself with a slight wiggle of the hips in just the right way to aggravate his wound. More than enough to elicit a low trilling growl like bird song from the young man's throat that sounded absolutely delightful.

The others looking on with mixed expressions of nervousness and amusement, used to such antics, if thoroughly unused to whatever this Huntsman was.

"Raven Guard, huh? Well...I know a Raven too, and she's gonna love you. I'm sure of it."

Before he had time to loose another curse, she compressed the weapon before his eyes and sucker-punched him square between the eyes with an Aura fueled jab, snapping his head back hard against the sand.

Again it felt like striking stone and jarred her wrist pretty bad, but it did the trick, the 'Son of Corax' going limp beneath her. A brief reprieve, and not likely to keep him down for long if his sudden revival before was any indicator.

As her people set about their work of stringing the unconscious Neophyte up tight with stolen handcuffs and thick ropes usually reserved for binding loot, no point in not doubling up where this one was concerned, Vernal's eye caught something lying in the sand barely visible, reaching down to pluck up a small necklace half buried in the grains.

A thin leather cord or worn material form which hung a tiny bird's skull, something that had no doubt come loose in the struggle and remarkably remained unbroken throughout, its empty eyes staring back at her accusingly in judgement.

Not that she cared overmuch, folks had been doing that for as long as she could remember, and it's never stopped her before.

"Raaf Praeto...Hmm, not bad, not bad at all."

His no doubt, a good luck charm? Bit creepy, either way, she pocketed it all the same.

Never know what might prove valuable after all...and somehow she couldn't help but feel she'd just hit the jackpot.

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Menagerie - Uninhabitable Zone)**

 **"...So then, certainly nowhere on Cadia. Not with that moon?"**

Brother Giallo voiced the fact to himself in a concerned whisper, tone distorted through the vox-speakers of his modified Mark IV helm while he stared woefully at the sunny sky from his seat upon on the dunes.

The air shimmering about him, but otherwise offering an unobstructed view of the vast sea of dunes that stretched seemingly forever onward. Endless in its majesty.

Imagifiers and cogitator cores set into his armor's advanced suite of optical lenses whirring gently to his enhanced senses as they compensated against the bright light of the system's star as he had for the last hour. Allowing his gen-hanced eyes to more easily pierce the veil of atmosphere above, and the wily machine spirits housed within his wargear to divine some clue to his place in the astronomical road map that was humanities birthright as a species.

A task far easier now that that disconcerting storm had faded away into the distance...revealing a shattered celestial body hanging in rather tenuous orbit about this planet.

To any onlooker, unlikely as it might be in this hostile region of monsters and environmental hazards, the Space Marine might've appeared a statue contemplating the heavens. Standing so still it was almost easy to lose track of him against the backdrop of sand as the burning orb above beat down across painted yellow and gold ceramite.

The illusion was almost seamless...at least until they'd caught sight of the humming power pack weighted across said statue's broad back, that is...

The device currently straining to contain forces close too if not equal to those of the very stars Giallo contemplated within a delicate balance of hydrogen and other gases. Enough energy to simulate a small solar flare, all delicately harnessed and funneled through a series of heavily insulated cabling, and each feeding into the Mark XIII " _Ragefire_ " Pattern Plasma Cannon laying reverently beside the Space Marine.

The temperamental centuries old weapon still steaming in a pile of what had once been sand but was now more akin to super heated glass shards after having been fired repeatedly more than a solar hour before at this strange world's native Fauna. Foul abominations all snapping jaws and dripping fangs covered in thick chitinous plates not unlike the Tyranid Xenos-breed, burrowing through the sand looking to pounce on unsuspecting prey and drag it down beneath the dunes.

They had come close, and had been reduced to ashes by the Plasma Cannon's fury for their trouble along with a good segment of the surrounding desert.

Perhaps if one looked more closely at the warrior himself, sparing a glance for the checkered pattern of blacks and whites across one scuffed and dented shoulder plate, or the emblem of a crimson heart accented with teardrop designs.

The mark of the Lamenters Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes...

 **"These constellations are all wrong. None of them show in any records of Segmentum Obscurus, but...Throne on Terra! How can that be!?"**

...Giallo had no inkling as to how he'd come to be on this strange unfamiliar world, bereft of direction or companionship. He ought to be standing upon the surface of Cadia in support of the beleaguered regiments. Or that had been the initial objective at least, a desperate but necessary risk as his Brother-Sergeant had stressed.

 _'Of course, what were we thinking?'_

It had been foolish in hindsight, to ignore the dire warnings of the Martian Priest responsible for ministering to the Teleportarium aboard the escort vessel _Bleeding Prosperity_.

The hunch-backed bundle of crimson robes and juddering augmetics had claimed through the choked his of a vox-grille that the presence of severe Warp anomalies raging across the surface could muddy the homing lock, or influence the transfer unduly.

Better to abstain, make use of the small cruiser's compliment of transports or perhaps attempt a drop pod orbital insertion.

All just as dangerous in the cluttered mess of burning ships and sub-atmospheric defenses the War World's atmosphere had become, the Squad leader of the Lamenter's small detachment seconded aboard had argued. And all far too slow for his liking.

The Cadian's and their allies were being slaughtered like chaff beneath the scythe of the Warmaster's cruel ambitions as they sat and debated possibilities.

Though they may be few in number, the bulk of their Chapter still facing the vile Tyranid xenos in the Segmentum Ultima, they could still do their part for Imperium and Emperor.

And thus it was so...a heartbeat's of darkness before all equilibrium was cast away, his physical body ripped from stable reality and cast into the Immaterium. A momentary tickle of something grazing the surface of his wargear with a lover's caress, the whispers of something cackling just beyond even his transhuman senses and then...

Then he stood blinking away the flickers of warp spawned traceries swimming before his helm lenses, the acrid scent of something gelatinous coating his armor, already steaming in the light of a star that had no place existing in a place he should not be.

Alone, with no sign of his four Brothers, or any means of contact...the worst case scenario.

A simple twist of fate gone awry. But that was nothing to a Chapter with a reputation for bad luck, so much so that Wargear checked ardently would often fail at the worst times, grenades were almost too dangerous to use for obvious reasons, and previously stable landing zones would crumble away underfoot or be struck by sudden devastating ambush.

 **"How typical."** Giallo intoned with a heady sigh, clambering slowly to his feet with as much grace as the power pack across his shoulders might allow. A weapon that in itself was a terrible risk, one the Space Marine bore stoically in service to the Throne and the Imperum. **"Hmph...No use wallowing in self pity. Nothing for it but to forge on. '** ** _Seek the Turn ahead'_** **."**

A peculiar phrase, at least to most who heard it, with fewer still able to grasp the true meaning unless they knew of the Chapter's particular string of...mishaps.

Even _'Lamenter Luck'_ had its twists and turns, and with so much bad sooner or later there would have to be a shift or _'Turn'_ of fortune somewhere along the path to victory, a kind of balance to even out the mishaps of the last few millennia.

Or so Giallo and every other Battle-Brother who bore the Bleeding Heart upon his shoulder pauldron believed, they had too.

The alternative, that their Chapter's peculiar pattern of misfortune after grave misfortune wasn't the will of cruel ill-deserved fate but some deep-seated corruption in their being, was too terrible to contemplate.

Many throughout the Imperium, even the vaunted Inquisition itself, considered the Lamenters to be a cursed Chapter. Plagued at the outset by during the auspicious XXI Founding, pushed to the outer reaches of the Imperium, driven into penitent exile after brutal censure at the hands of those they served for supporting the cause of those they had once considered their closest Brothers.

These, and a hundred other adversities that would've driven lesser souls into destruction or damnation long ago. But not the Lamenters...

For those they cherish, they clung to what shreds of Hope remained. As painful as that could be at times...

 _'The Turn will come soon, it has too...'_

It was why they would never surrender in the face of their own terrible luck. Never turn their back even on an Imperium that spat on their sacrifice and named them traitors, and why the Chapter Master had sent Giallo and the rest of his Squad to help reinforce the Cadian Gate and repel another of the Despoiler's Black Crusades.

 _'And now my brothers are dead, or lost to me. And I walk stranded, alone on a planet of unknown Provenance...NO! Keep moving forward!'_

It was then, after hours spent simply moving forward in the midst of his own self-reflection and bitter resolve that Giallo halted in his march, helm twitching as his senses picked up a sound completely at odds with the stark desert surrounding him. The steady roar of waves on an ocean's tides crashing hard against a coastline, the salt tang flavoring the air through his helm's filters.

Excellent, that would at least give a true direction to follow beyond meaningless, a set of bearings however simple. A means to survive and possibly thrive, the Oolitic Kidney the Emperor's blessings had bestowed upon him proof against even the most toxic of drinking waters, and whats more the creatures within the depths could prove fine sustenance. What's more...

 **"Water may mean Civilization, and Civilization means...!"**

 _'The Turn, perhaps...?'_

It was almost too much to hope, but he had decided to tread this particular path at random. Action preferable to waiting around absent goal. Despite laboring under a weight equating to several hundred pounds across an unstable surface, tripping and stumbling every other step, Giallo was determined to find the source.

One last arduous advance up the face of what he'd thought to be an overly large dune, but was truly the side of what he only realized now was a massive basin stretching long into the horizon at his back. The distance seemingly immeasurable beyond a slough of raging sandstorms raging far off in the distance...if he'd taken that path...

 **"** ** _Audaces fortuna iuvat..."_** He uttered the ancient proverb in High Gothic, rising unsteadily into a low crouch upon the veritable mountain of sand to gaze out at the vast expanse of crystal blue ocean before him. _"Fortune favors the bold."_ And the rewards of such courage were making themselves more than apparent, an armored plasma blackened fist clapping hard against his chestplate, gracing the imperial aquila set in gold across his breast.

 **"Emperor be praised. And may noble Sanguinius turn his gaze upon me."**

It was a beautiful sight, especially when compared to the nothingness of the desert that lay only a ridge away. The beach's sands a stark shining white with calcified minerals and fish brine rather than the dull cracked tan he'd grown so used too. Cracking underfoot, concealing who knew what manner of horrors beneath its surface.

Where more than one step had ended in teeth clasping to the thick ceramite, an annoyance more than a pain. Nothing a swift low build shot from his _Ragefire_ or a quick stomp of his armored heel hadn't been able to dissuade.

But not here, the heat of the sun offset by the salty air and moisture which had in turn spawned a thick copse of tropical flora that ran for several kilometers on either side about the edges of the shoreline. Heavy palms drooping low to provide adequate shade for the succulent fruits that hand in their boughs, thick with juice and flavor beyond the nutrient paste and ration packs he'd expected to sustain him.

Good luck after so much misfortune...of course it couldn't last.

A flicker of motion returns chimed across his auspex display, Giallo's cumbersome _Ragefire_ brought to bear in an instant to scan the treeline. The ambient heat wafting from the vents already stealing the moisture from the air in a heavy haze, the closest plants already beginning to smolder.

It's machine spirit could hardly contain its passion, craving the chance to unleash its deadly payload against the Xenos scum. To scream its burning fury to the open air or to consume its wielder in their stead.

As things stood, it was all Giallo could do to keep a steady hand on the humming weapon of war. What paint remaining on his gauntlets and now a good way up his forearms beginning to smolder anew. Dulling the brilliant yellow to a wash of ash black char and glimpses of the steely dull Ceramite beneath.

His senses keyed to searching for a threat that would spring from the boughs above or the thick waist high brambles about the base of the trunks. With the heat distortion of the air further exacerbated by his weapon mucking his visual targeting cogitators and the the close range Augurs still indicating a host of ghost returns after its trip through the Empyrean, it was difficult to make out much of anything..but no.

The more insistent Auspex chimes weren't indicating the treeline at all. Pivoting about the smooth motion of one who had spent centuries hefting such a burden, Giallo adjusted his aim to cover a patch of choppier seawater only a few meters out from the coast situated towards the lower tides.

A large shadow barely visible underneath the surf, moving slowly yet inexorably forward towards the Lamenter's position.

An ocean dwelling variant of the creatures he had faced before, or some new terror, the Devastator Marine couldn't be sure. So he did what any Son of the Angel would do in the face of the unknown, standing boldly ready to face whatever horror might come.

Still, the sight of said 'Horror' as it breached the surface was almost enough make the Space Marine lose his grip upon the _Ragefire_ burning in hand from suddenly nerveless fingers.

A hulking mass heads and shoulder above Giallo vaguely in the shape of a hunched humanoid figure, striding forth from the sea foam like some Titan birthed out of Ancient Terran mythos, one lumbering step at a time. A beast from the depths laid bare in all its glory by the shining star above.

An Astartes, clad in what was unmistakably Tactical Dreadnought Plate...Terminator Armor.

The chipped and dented shell of thick ash grey Ceramite-plasteel composite mounted upon a brutish exo-skeletal structure of thrice-blessed Adamantium. A design which took the Space Marine's already formidable strength and raw capacity for violence gifted by the Emperor's genetic blessings and augmented by a factor of several times, all while garbing the wearer in the style of a living bipedal armored platform.

A bulwark capable of shrugging off assaults and dangers that would have seen a standard suit of Power Armour reduced to ceramite splinters, standing resolute as its counterpart fell woefully short...

This particular suit was laden even further by sodden dripping charms and fetishes consisting of bone and hanging bestial incisors. These arranged to outline flowing traceries of blue and white designs and sculpts meant to evoke a savage if startlingly artful tapestry of darting fins, ripping teeth, and other undulating deep sea creatures that almost seemed to swim across the dark expanse of plate.

Broken only by a pair of lightning bolts embossed across the chest piece, a symbol of the Emperor himself, and a single grinning skull.

Black eye lenses stared out from a head shaped further in the style of some snapping bloodied maw, an alpha killer...

Fitting comparison as happened, the still flailing body of a similar black skinned and white armored creature not wholly dissimilar to those Giallo had faced in the desert if far bigger and geared towards aquatic environs, spitted along the length of a wickedly jagged chainblade mounted underneath one broad fist. A custom grafted Storm Bolter integrated into the forearm of the other, dripping a steady stream water from its broad barrels.

Flailing that stopped abruptly in a spray of dark gaseous matter when what the Lamenter distinctly recognized as an artificer crafted chainfist revved to sudden lethal life. Bisecting its skewered captive in an moment's keening death cry to dissolve in pieces upon the foaming surf.

But that was not what truly gave the Lamenter pause, no...that honor was reserved for the symbol embossed proudly across this titan's left shoulder pauldron. An ancient pale oceanic predator, it's maw open as though to swallow all prey in its path. For that was what all others were to the men who bore that sigil, Giallo had seen it firsthand almost a century past in the Badab War.

That infamous bloody conflict that had seen Astartes fighting Astartes, and the whole of Giallo's Chapter brought low by censure. A war where dozens, nay hundreds, of warriors with that mark upon their armor had descended upon and slaughtered Lamenters like predators crazed by the scent of blood, all while remaining so eerily silent...

 **"Carcharodon Astra."** The Son of Sanguinius spoke the High Gothic title of the other's Chapter, voice surprisingly even for the flurry of emotions storming within him, kept at bay by sheer ingrained discipline alone. **"Well met, Cousin."**

 **"Lamenter."** A harsh tone radiated from the fanged grille of his helm's fanged vocaliser. The voice behind it sounding eerily distant in a way, as if issued from the ocean's depths. **"Your back is exposed."**

Beyond that he said no more, he didn't need to. By then Giallo had already noticed why that was.

"Drop your weapons, both of you...whatever you are! By order of the White Fang!"

A shout rang through the air behind him in a base variant of low Gothic, the voice behind it tensed with adrenaline and a flicker of uncertainty.

Other whispers too, more than one speaker then, mentions of "Atlas Prototype", "Faunus", and "Ironwood"...it all meant little to Giallo who cursed his blasted fortune.

"I said drop your weapons, and step out of those weird suits while your at it! C'mon! You're in Menagerie now human, our land, our rules!"

By some curious one in a million fluke that had afflicted the machine spirits of his helm's Auspex at just that moment. A lapse while his focus was on the new arrival from the sea, the Lamenter had failed to notice white masked figures bleeding from the treeline with primitive slug thrower rifles clutched in hand. Some even bore spears or curved swords, all held at the ready.

Their wielder's attentions focused intently on the Astartes, seemingly unsure of what to make of them. Though focused more upon the vastly over sized bulk of the Carcharodon for obvious reasons.

Their intended targets held no such concerns, noting the curious protrusions and deformations showing clearly among the hostile force. Antlers and mammalian traits, curious claws and distended fangs, even one or two with scales showing in patches across their exposed skin...mutants. Filth...

The Speaker representing them, their leader no doubt, had a pair of horns curving back from the sides of his head like a wild Grox. Standing in a manner no doubt meant to convey some form of threat, hands tightening subtly in a white knuckled vice about his own weapon.

"Last warning, three seconds! Surrender or be cut down where you stand! Three...Two...!?"

It was a subtle shift, the two Space Marines intentions aligning perfectly as their armor's comm-suites crackled to life and tactical information and intention was shared in an instant.

The Ident-designation 'Tetahi Mā' highlighting the Carcharodon a brilliant blue alongside a sizable roll of honors along with the service record and designation for the Crux Terminatus of the ancient suit of power armor he wore. And ancient it was, millenia old at least of a Pattern thought long lost.

The rest of the dedicated overlay, including the mutants, was painted a vivid red. Relevant targeting details soon to follow, update screens swiftly blink-clicked aside for the moment in favor of the now. Of the task ahead.

"Fortune favors the bold", but not this day, at least not for the foul aberrations of this _'White Fang'_.

The first true souls on the face of Remnant to meet a Space Marine in battle...Tetahi Mā was in motion with far more speed than his Terminator plate might suggest, and with a brutal grace that spoke of centuries experience in the art of slaughter. Falling upon the closest of them before the Speaker could do more than shriek a warning cry of alarm. Far too little, far too late...

An unstoppable lumbering behemoth of armored murderous intent that struck the antlered head from his prey with a dismissive backhand of his free gauntlet. Utterly terrifyingly silent as his Chainfist roared to violent life once again, speaking for him.

Screaming his disdain while reaping two more of the startled soldiers in an arterial tide of blood and tattered strings of viscera before blowing another three apart with a single quick burst of fire from the Storm Bolter, its sojourn in the sea leaving it none the worse for wear, or any less accurate as these creatures learned well. The Lamenter claiming another pair, their bodies reduced to little more than charred husks in the face of the plasma weapon.

Unlike the vile spawn from before, these mutants didn't dissolve to nothing when slain, their blood and matter consumed by the oncoming tide.

And the Space Shark was glad of it...their flesh would be useful for his purposes. Their lives less so.

For _Rangu,_ the Void Father...For the Forgotten One...For the Imperium...

Let the Void take his pitiful foes into the emptiness of the Outer Dark, into _Silence_...

* * *

 _ **-END**_

* * *

 _ **A/N: And here they are, more loyal Space Marines of Remnant**_

 _ **Raaf Praeto - Raven Guard, Scout (Because more stealth is always needed, among other things...)**_

 _ **Giallo - Lamenters, Devastator (Yep, I gave the Lamenter the Plasma Cannon, nothing could go wrong with that, eh...?"**_

 _ **Tetahi Mā - Carcharodons Astra, Terminator (Silent and oh so deadly. Just finished Red Tithe, went into a great amount of detail about these guys and I enjoy their lore. And sticking him with the Lamenter, how could I resist? Badab awkwardness all around)**_

 _ **This also marks the first meeting of Imperium and Remnant, with varied results. Raaf got taken by surprise, Aura being one hell of an equalizer and his mini Sus-an coma slowing him down, he could've won if he'd gone for the kill. Poor Scouts...so much to learn.**_

 _ **As for Menagerie, well how else were Space Marines gonna react to a bunch of armed Faunus? Especially good ol' Space Shark who's got his gristle...guess how their gonna learn about their environment? Ah gene-seed, it's ridiculous sometimes.**_

 _ **Anyway, back to the mortals and the forces of Chaos. This lot will be popping in every now and then, hope you enjoyed. - Mojo1586**_

 **-Questions-**

 **Guest: Was the Avenger Cannon a typo, not exactly. Did visualize Verdant Dawn as an Errant or at least has the mindset of one. Was playing Freeblade and preferred on weapon over the other.**

 **I would consider it optional wargear, at least for the purposes of what's happening. As for Vivian herself, she went through a few back and forth, was a guy at one point. Actually was a last minuit change, hope that clears things up. Site wouldn't let me send a message directly.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 6 - Moving Forward-**

* * *

 _ **To be Unclean**_  
 _ **That is the Mark of the Xenos**_  
 _ **To be Impure**_  
 _ **That is the Mark of the Xenos**_  
 _ **To be Abhorred**_  
 _ **That is the Mark of the Xenos**_  
 _ **To be Reviled**_  
 _ **That is the Mark of the Xenos**_  
 _ **To be Hunted**_  
 _ **That is the Mark of the Xenos**_  
 _ **To be Purged**_  
 _ **That is the fate of the Xenos**_  
 _ **To be Cleansed**_  
 _ **For that is the fate of all Xenos**_  
-Catechism of the Xeno, Extract from the Third Book of Indoctrinations. _The Litany Xenomortis_

* * *

. **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Emerald Forest Interior, Vale)**

Vivian of House Stahl had believed she'd be ready for anything.

Prepared to face any danger or foul perfidy the forces of the Archenemy and their so-called ruinous powers could field. The rumbling might of _Verdant Dawn_ at her disposal, thrilled at the chance to engage a foe, any foe, and earn both herself and her diminished House some measure of glory.

Even if in the end it saw her to the grave as it had her sire...it wouldn't have mattered to her, not really.

 _Stand Tall, Stand Firm_...the motto of her Household, that creed by which she'd been born and bred to obey.

The tenets of Chivalry and Honor demanded nothing less. And the Freeblade had accepted such a fate with the expected outward grace, as much as she had inwardly railed against the need to beg for a place in the Court formations of House Krast.

Suffering the derision of pompous _cumberworlds_ such as Atra and his ilk. Forced to compete and play the simpering damsel for the attentions and favor of Lords like Canus, where once her heritage would have declared them as equals.

Debasing herself merely for the right to serve in the capacity she was born for...

Such was the lot of an errant Household in decline, with no fiefdom to call their own and only a single Knight to pledge...recently bereft of its noble leader and left to the care of an Heiress barely reaching majority...that had rankled. Oh yes, yes it had...

But Vivian had played at the game of courtly politics since the moment she had first stood on tottering legs in a foreign Court, having been forced to watch her prideful Father forego his pride to bow and scrape for asylum at the boot heels of lesser souls. Lesser houses, the indignity of it...

Vivian knew her own value, her possessed talent, over the snide whispers and jealous rumors of _dalcops_ and _roiderbanks..._ as much as it had stung regardless.

Nevertheless the Stahl heiress had stood firm, dauntless even as misfortune after misfortune took their due at every turn.

Loyal serfs and valued kin kin had fallen or fled one after the other, vile words and gossip bandied with the ease of poisons and knives in the dark...but she had persevered. Aided along the by those last few loyal to their oaths and the memory of her Family.

Darius Trager, her loyal Sacristan, her Caretaker after Father's loss and Mother's...weakness. But he was there no longer.

She hadn't been quite so prepared for that.

The augmented codger's stalwart presence absent in churning morass of data-squirts and impulses that comprised the Manifold. Totally absent from her side, for what she'd realized was the first time in her living memory.

His gentle rebukes, unwanted words of wisdom, and silent acts in her defense...simply gone in the appearance of this strange foreign world underfoot.

Dimly, she had on some level understood Canus and Atra were lost as well. Consumed by that Daemon birthed storm and...and whatever _thing_ had sprung from that Traitor Sorceror's bloated corpse.

That glorious final charge of Krast and Stahl had all come to naught, the incessant ache behind her eyes the only reminder left of her Lord Canus Krast.

His surveying augur arrays had caught the scent something vast lumbering in depths of the maelstrom. An impulse flicker rippling through the sensorium his only warning to a rash young Knight ranging too far ahead.

One that had gone unregistered by Vivian in the heat of the moment, the thrill at discovering the form this new foe might take. She wanted it's head, _SHE_ wanted the glory of the kill. To boast, to prove herself better...

Thus she had been rather surprised when her Lord had shoved her none too gently aside bodily in a colliding clamor of metallic frames and screaming servo motors. A move that had left her staggering and likely concussed in blatant shock and no small amount of outrage.

A maneuver born of desperation that had doubtless saved her life, and by the same virtue had doomed the venerable Knight in turn.

A heartbeat's pause all it had taken, _Stalwart in Grace_ barely able to level it's primary armament before the cockpit housing along with much of the demi-Titan's upper frame was simply blasted outwards by some unseen leviathan of mammoth proportions. Birthed from the Warp Rift itself and already fading back to feast upon it's prize.

The noble machine's spirit lingered momentarily for a few seconds more, ion shields fluttering impotently as the lower leg stanchions managed one final step before toppling out of sight. The telltale heat and radiation alerts swallowed in the resulting plasma detonation, swiftly dismissed.

Of Canus, his consciousness had been utterly ripped from the simulus communion, his vitals simply ceasing to exist. The only thing left was but an echo, a ghost of final desperate thoughts, of blindingly disgraceful fears and momentary regrets. Vivian dismissed those as well on principle, as no warrior regardless of her own thoughts deserved to be remembered in such a disgraceful manner.

Vivian hadn't witnessed what happened to that fool peacock Atra, nor had she desired to either, enduring his pleading screams over the manifold. Knightly honor swept aside by sheer terror and panic, an utter disgrace. At least Canus had lived with honor until his death, his second not even able to accomplish that much.

Pitiful drawn out wails calling for Vivian's aid as _Mordred's Humility_ was slowly subsumed by grasping tendrils of crimson light tinged oily black with veins and carried away. Lost to whatever grisly fate awaited it amidst the fluctuating warp energies raging about the battlefield in the moment of collapse.

It was then the curious presence turned its vile attentions upon the _Dawn,_ and Vivian had fought...by the God Emperor she'd _fought._ Railing with chainsword and cannon against a foe bearing such scale her mind tried and yet utterly failed to comprehend...

Size and shape were mere abstract concepts to describe such a being, a thing vile as it was ancient, and Vivian longed to slay it as the ancients Paladins of old had faced the wicked Wyrm. Her Mount desired this also, bellowing its heroic defiance even as blow after flickering blow rained down from all sides against it's blessed armor...but woman and machine endured...and endured...and...endured...

 _'So long...How long have I been fighting? Days? Years? Decades?...or has it merely been seconds?'_

Through her snarls Stahl found she couldn't tell, nor did she very much care.

Each attack she stuck against the daemon thing was rapture, but every glancing strike it landed made itself known in a pallid corpse cold that chilled across Vivian's flesh, pervading and taking advantage of her bond with the Machine...

Her being ached, the slightest touch of that _Thing_ utterly wrong in a way that rankled across her soul itself...a violation Vivian could not abide.

Yet eventually, reluctantly, she felt herself begin to succumb.

The impression of cold crimson eyes shining in ardent amusement down at her spitting defiance a bitter one...So terrible was that gaze...so beautiful...nothingness embraced her...

And then, without any warning as if waking from a dream the young Scion started back to awareness, finding herself standing in a dense forest of all places.

Blinking through _Verdant Dawn's_ ancient amber eye lenses at a lush portrait of bountiful greens and browns so removed from the ruin-strewn battle lines upon which she'd raged only moment's earlier that she loosed the contents of her stomach, necessitating more than a little swift action with her helm to keep from drowning in ignominy. Mind reeling all the while at the same rate as her Mount's cogitators.

Sacred data had flowed through the manifold in abundance as the Machine tried to quantify the impossibility of the moment. Testing for toxicity and variance in atmospheric, temperature balances, gravitic variations present in her immediate area as opposed to before, committing to preliminary augur sweeps...

Every planet possessed such unique differences. Some such as brutish Catachan pulling at their surface, others where the universal law of gravity was nigh absent, and all manner in between. Some worlds were frigid balls of ice, others hellish flame, and most rare were those supporting an ecosystem similar to ancient Terra. Cadia had been such a world, despite its proximity to the Great Eye, and so was this one...

 _'Though that moon...'_ Faded in the daylight, but visible enough to see the clear worry. A third shattered, broken like an egg in a manner that should have sent the pieces raining down to ravage the world below. _'...what madness is this?'_

Still, through these early returns she had also been able to determine that not all was unchanged. The burnt out husks of assault vehicles of varying patterns, bearing the heraldry of Imperial and Traitor alike, scooped up as the Knight had been and discarded just as easily, littered the area in mindless heaps of rubble and distress.

A few she noted as having fused into the meat of trees and stones with disastrous results, casualties of what she was realizing had been some form of mass teleportation on a scale unthinkable...

Vivian also discovered, to her silent unvoiced thrill and relief, that she was far from alone in this new world. Her technically gifted sight describing two distinct hosts of stirring individual bodies, followed swiftly by mass crimson runes of target acquirement. First dozens, then hundreds...

 _'Throne of Terra...'_

As she sat immobile in utter stupefaction, the motive spirit of _Verdant Dawn_ prepared itself for what it had been birthed to do, cycling the whirring Avenger Cannon into readiness and test revving the massive Reaper Sword. It was those sounds, those ticking impressions jumping across her palms and forearms speaking of twitching anticipation that sent a swell of pride building in her breast, reminding the Scion of her purpose, of her duty.

She was to march against the Imperium's foes and grind them to so much chaff beneath her tread. And so she had walked, bellowing her hatred at the foe if only to distract from the insane reality of the situation. It wasn't as if she'd started anything, already the massed traitor and loyalist forces were tearing into one another, shock giving way to ingrained prejudices as was always the case.

 _'...The where and why is unimportant, finish the fight, finish the war... **WE MARCH!** '_

A dozen scattered battles from which to chose from, the enemy woefully bereft of any weapon of force that could even come close to threatening her Mount. Desperate bursts of las, stubber, and heavier weapons fire rang out across the traitor lines at the sight of the Knight Errant shouldering its way through the treeline.

Their fear only magnifying as a salvo that might have overcome even the most determined of conventional defenses stitched harmlessly across the thin veil of the demi-Titan's flickering ion shield. Vivian striding forth from the chaos unhindered, the glorious visage of a hero riding forth to glory.

In the face of such a sight, many broke and fled before the unstoppable mechanized advance. Man and mutant alike throwing down their weapons in some desperate bid for safety, abandoning their fell gods and misbegotten comrades.

Most only to scythed down or torn apart moments later by the guns of Guardsmen newly invigorated by Vivian's presence, those few traitors that remained bearing witness to _Verdant Dawn's_ Gatling Cannon spinning up to full readiness at her behest.

It was to have been a glorious massacre of the foe.

And then those creatures had appeared and a massacre it had truly become...for all involved...

* * *

"Oh blessed Master of Mankind, shield your unworthy servant from the paired sins of doubt and uncertainty!"

Delphine's litany tolled forth, somehow managing to make itself audible over the agonized death cries of man and beast as she brought the reinforced frame of Sister Mariana's Heavy Flamer down across the snout of a squealing porcine abomination seeking to gore her on its tusks. Her Flamer's stores of promethium almost spent, yet it could still claim the lives of the foe in myriad ways, as could she...

Brutalizing alien muscle and bone in equal measure, she kicked the faltering alien aside with augmented strength granted by holy artifice. Ribs buckling underneath the weight of her armored heel.

Each breath she claimed was a labor of effort, muscles across her body straining under the burden of damaged or misaligned plates. Blood boiling with sanctioned adrenal stimulants and the psychological rush brought on by deep set hypno-conditioning. Balms instilled throughout her years of training, called upon through trigger phrases woven into prayer.

These stopgaps at best were most assuredly all that kept her upright in the wake of overwhelming exhaustion and mounting injury. That, and the primal drive to see the foe brought low before her. As it should be...

" _Graagh_! In...In place of weakness, grant the strength of purpose by which to carry out your divine will!"

Once...twice...three times she raised her leg and three times she stomped down until finally the squirming pig-thing's neck gave way with an audible crack like a bolt round exiting the chamber. Its corporeal form breaking down in moments to fade before her eyes as had all the others before it.

A strange quality of this particular Xenos breed, and not necessarily a pleasant one. Such things smacked of Chaos, and the taint of warp-craft.

"To crush the enemies of man beneath my steps...hah...To...To deny the alien in all its myriad guises!..."

Fitting words, for what foul guises my enemy bore indeed...

From lumbering monstrosities near the rival of a Carnifex xeno-type striding through the thick foliage with nigh contemptuous ease, to the smaller bio-forms of screeching maws and claw tipped limbs traveling in their wake. So many differing variations that they defied any common conventions of species.

Some lupine in much the same vein as the true wolves and other great predators of fabled Fenris or similar death worlds, others reptilian or even insect-like in nature.

It might almost have been simpler to consider them some breed of Tyranid offshoot, the twisted products of genetic tampering controlled and utilized by some vast cruel alien intellect.

And similar they were in both bearing and tactics. An overwhelming sense of hunger apparent in the way the beasts threw themselves into the flesh grinder of the Imperial's defenses, using numbers to press down against and overwhelm the prey's positions of strength.

Yet many more she witnessed were near to impossible to classify even by those loose standards. Giants of animated stone and wood, dredging themselves from the landscape as though the planet itself rebelled against the presence of the invaders cast upon its surface.

Beings that defied logical reason or physical sense, yet somehow moved with one purpose in pursuit of any living being not of their vile ilk, weathering even the special attentions of the las and auto cannon emplacements of which there were hardly enough.

And what's more, the feel of them...

Something beyond what the Sister Novitiate could see, an evil that clung to their presence like a despairing shroud that fell across the soul. Darkness itself quite literally bleeding off them in tendrils of acrid smoke. The feeling they exuded akin to that of the Warp's foul denizens and their perfidious taint, an aura of unease...but it mattered not.

Xenos or Daemon, they were still less than nothing in the face of the Emperor's Chosen soldiers and had their lives snuffed out as such.

Or so Delphine told herself, battering another one of the wolven beasts aside with bone shattering force directed to it's throat as it sought to bear a nearby Guardswoman in the livery of the Vostroyan Firstborn to the ground.

 _'...How many does that make now? A dozen? Two dozen? How many more will it take...!?'_ A repeatedly desperate question, once that had dogged her since arriving upon this blighted world.

Servos motors whined fiercely between the abused joints of her battle plate,. Those oils and unguents applied prior to that final daring stand beyond the walls of Kasr Rantik no longer capable of masking the strain completely.

Her own hurts, a stiffness of limp and a deep ache in the bone of her shoulder, also made themselves known in their own insidious way. A groan of pain they might have elicited however, such a sign of weakness was stillborn in her throat. Unvoiced, and unheard.

The armor would endure of course for as long as it was needed, as would she. There could be no doubt...no weakness...no mercy...

The disgusting monstrosity she'd felled toppled off to the side in a heap of fur and writhing limbs, gurgling through a distended windpipe.

Kneeling, Delphine sought to tend to its intended prey, reaching out a hand...yet drew it back and rose again swiftly when it became obvious the woman was beyond whatever physical aid the Sister could offer. A young thing barely older than Delphine was herself, no doubt dredged up during the desperate calls for recruitment in the face of the Black Legion's coming.

Her red coat stained a shade of deeper crimson, panicked tear filled eyes fluttering above a gasping mouth and an opened throat weeping her life into the dirt.

So afraid. So lost. Unable to even whisper...

What would a more experienced member of her Order have done in that moment, she wondered? Offered final rites, or words to soothe or reassure the girl? She had fallen in His service, her eternity was assured...so then why did the young woman feel afraid? She would be by the Emperor's side soon.

Delphine of the Order of our Martyred Lady held no answers, and no words, none the Guardswoman would hear anyway. Glassy eyes staring at her accusingly, as though judging the Novitiate for her failure...no... _ **NO**!_

The Sister had performed her duty, there was no failing. No guilt.

She had slain the creature responsible, the mass of twitching meat fading into nothingness leaving only its victim behind in cold reminder. Yet its death was merely another negligible drop in the ocean.

Whether in packs or pods, the daemon-xenos things only continued to stream forth from the forest's shadowed depths as though birthed wholly from them. Falling upon the closest concentrations of prey with a predator's need and an animal's ferocity.

More and more, always more, seemingly without end...

Regardless of shape, all bore the same unmistakable colors, sporting a thick black exterior be it of scale or fur. Augmented all the more by thick bone plates streaked with ruddy cerise, bulwarks that had proven the equal of all but the most determined or precise of assaults by the beleaguered Guardsmen. The carapace turning aside stubber rounds as easily as they soaked up oncoming las fire, yet proving far less efficacious in the face of intense unremitting temperatures.

A blessing for which the Sororitas gave innumerable thanks, the pilot light flickering to renewed life on the end of her flamer's muzzle with a whispered prayer of gratitude.

"In His name I bring fiery retribution!"

Hoisting the heavy weapon in a stance schooled from her earliest days in the Schola, she allowed her armor to accept the lion's share of the weight and squeezed the release. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, swiftly crushed by discipline and piety.

She must be the face of the Emperor's judgement, cold and zealous, a symbol...

"To the impure, to the unclean, there can be only death meted out at the hands of the righteous!"

Torrents of sacred fire belched from the Flamer, bathing the both closest pod of saurian forms and the mutant dregs they had been feasting upon in a blanket of searing conflagration.

Roars of hunger, fury, and terror swiftly bled into shrill cries of purest agony only judgment by the inferno could inflict. The white of their armored chitin popping and sizzling to ashen black before their forms faded to nothingness leaving only vaguest outlines in the of spared ground to mark their passing.

The mutants at least had the decency to leave their misshapen corpses where they had fallen. Ashes to be trodden upon by souls more worthy.

"So let it be. And might the rest of your misbegotten kind soon join you, filth!" Delphine spat, taking the moment in with senses unclouded by the sensorium of a battle helm. Tasting the lingering scents of cooked meat and promethium lingering on the air. Hearing the cries of defiance, the humming _*hiss-crack*_ of lasgun discharge amidst the roaring bang vehicle engines and chugging heavy weapons.

The sounds seeming almost to blend together, a rampant staccato that stole her breath and quickened the young woman's pulse.

 _'This is battle, this...this is war...!'_

Her wide eyes took in the inspiring sight of men and women...humans, dressed in the varied uniforms and armaments of a dozen worlds, locked in pitched combat for their lives. Working together as one to overcome the forces of alien and traitor alike, standing against all odds in the face of great adversity.

To be fighting for the soul and sanctity of one's home and Imperium one moment, only to be cast adrift to a hostile world without warning by sorcery most foul was a trial the Sister imagined would have seen most souls broken. But the armies of the Imperium were made of sterner stuff.

In accordance with the creeds by which she dedicated every breath and the Imperial Guard had drilled into their every act, in the name of the Emperor to whom she and the Astra Militarum owed every fealty, this visage of slaughter was more than a struggle for survival.

Each xenos slain a mark of faith, the bloom of weapons fire holy verse to light the path. Truly, such violence was nothing short of worship in it's purest form...

"Stand firm, Sons and Daughters of the Imperium! _Stand Firm_!"

Blinking away her reverie, the Sister bit her lip and turned towards the southern length of the glade where the conflict was thickest.

Beasts of all size and variety pouring into the open from all directions, circling the hastily garnered formation of barely functioning imperial armor and steely eyed soldiery. Many legged monstrosities, snapping maws large enough to swallow a man whole, so many bodies writhing together as to conceal the forest floor beneath...

"Gather as one, and their numbers shall be as nothing! Heavy weapons teams to the rear, target the leader beasts! Throw everything you have at them! Guardsmen, hold the line!"

In comparison to such a horde, the figure perched a top the claw ravaged chassis of a Salamander seemed pitifully small.

A young woman dressed in the tattered greatcoat of her calling, heroically wielding a smoking bolt pistol in one hand with her other wrapped hanging in a bloodstained sleeve along with the rest of her arm. A young woman whom Delphine recognized as the Cadian Commissar she'd seen fleeing the Word Bearer's advance, Catelin. The one she'd thought a coward.

Someone she'd almost mistakenly executed, she recalled with the ghost of a grimace creasing her brow.

"Overlapping spread of fire, ' _Swarm-bane_ ' formation!" Catelin cried out, taking the hind leg out from beneath one of the loping lupine attack forms with a feat of expert marksmanship, leaving the task of finishing the monster off to her comrades who set about the task with gusto.

Hovering behind her bandaged shoulder bobbed a servo skull hovering along on struggling suspensor fields, its lower jaw replaced by a vox emitter tasked with relaying the Commissar's orders over the deafening din of combat.

"Second line close ranks! Trooper Brindle, with m...Brindle? Brindle!? Blood and spite, where did he...!? _Rrgh_...fight all of you! _Fight for your comrades! Fight for your Emperor_!"

It was a short lived guilt, tempered by duty and necessity. An unworthy soul, one touched by the cardinal sin of cowardice, could never be allowed to hold command over the Emperor's faithful. To be held to the same standards as their charges, if not more so, was something all Commissars should expect.

 _'Better to die in ignominy than to fail the Throne even in the perception of others...'_

If anything, Delphine applauded her fellow Progena for her resolve, for earning her life. Was it not by her hand and that of her subordinate that the Sororitas still drew breath?

Standing covered head to toe in grime and bloodstains, most originating from the bodies falling pressed below her. Each rending talon that made it through the defensive cordon, of which there were far too many, sending up another violent arterial spray sprinkling through the air courtesy of a loyal soul to paint the Troopers beside them.

So thick was the volume that the original regimental markings of many a Guardsmen were made indistinct, rendering all in the same grisly uniform image with the valiant Commissar at their head. A unified force bound in violence.

Still standing, if not for long.

Delphine might have felt tempted to offer her Flamer to their desperate cause if not for other far more pressing concerns. Matters of vengeance, balancing the scales...

The Word Bearer Sorcerer had perished in the midst of daemonic apotheosis, slain at the Commissar's hands, but what of his disciples?

The fell apprentice, Claret? Or those other twisted sycophants who had stood by and mocked as their Master butchered her Sisters like so much livestock.

Did such filth still draw breath? Or had they been devoured wholesale as many of the other cultists and mutated scum had been, ripped apart, trodden to paste by larger bioforms...?

 _"_ How... _tempting_."

On her lips the utterance might as well have been a curse, an excuse for laxity in the face of duty. She _needed_ to be sure, the memories of her Sisters and comrades needed her to be certain.

"I swear this to you, my Sisters." The Novitiate grasped for the ankh icon hanging about a chain on her neck at her collar, drawing in a deep breath scented by blood and ashen smoke. The red and the black...those sacred vestiges of the Martyred Lady. "In the name of the God-Emperor, until the last of those weak willed heathen's corpses smolder at my feet, I shall know no rest!"

The whispered oath became a shout, honed by zealous fury and the wrath known only to the truly fanatical. Her whole body shook with nervous energy, exacerbated by her armor and the trembling of the ground beneath her feet.

"None who had a hand in your deaths shall be spared! Again, this I sw...!?"

A bestial roar split the air, a sounding call utterly inhuman, separate yet standing well above even the clamor of massacre. Echoes of it rebounding through trees which themselves seemed to almost shiver in trepidation, let alone the impact it held over the combatants themselves on both sides, be they man or beast.

All froze, all turned...

For the briefest of moments, there was naught but silence. As though a pall had fallen across the length and breadth of the battlefield, an instinctive reaction that left nerve-frayed Guardsmen clutching tightly to weapons in sweaty grips, while foul Xenos froze in their relentless advance, snapping at the air and at one another.

Such as it was, how odd that silence heralded the coming of the Astartes...one of the Emperor's own Angels of Death.

Not that such was obvious at a mere first glance as the giant ceramite clad Space Marine tore free from the treeline at a run, moving far faster than any being that size had any right to be. Trampling smaller bioforms under heel as he charged, unperturbed, closing the distance between himself and the foe in the same time many took to register his presence in the first place.

A portrait of near feral wrath combined with the dauntless conditioning of a lifetime's experience and the Emperor's genetic mastery.

Delphine had seen much the same present in the Word Bearer's own advance, a shiver of anger and resentment building in her breast at the memory. Her Flamer held at the ready, despite the cheers welling up from the Astra Militarum lines which swiftly gave way to murmurs of nervousness and dread at the Space Marine's coming.

Ally or not, the phenomena of transhuman dread was still a potent and well-documented factor when one came face to face with one of the Emperor's Chosen. Their presence alone was enough to render brave men to little more than quaking children, or drive cowards into swift retreat if not putting them on their knees in unconscious acceptance of the fate before them.

Stories existed of entire worlds wrapped in the midst of rebellion that had capitulated before the threat posed by even a handful of such beings.

Such was only the modicum of what the terror an Astartes could inspire, and this specimen was of no exception...

Pitted and scarred armor the same ebon shade as the alien's foul skin from helm to boot, the trend unbroken but for few exceptions. Trims of dull silver bordering his broad shoulder pads and the whole of his shield arm, situated alongside splashes of glinting crimson from a fist sized ruby set between the wings of the sacred aquila adorning his chest plate. On the whole, the wargear actually quite unadorned but for that small embellishment, well...that as well as the ragged strips of paper and thick cloth that might once have been strips of oath paper or purity seals hanging about his person, stained through with blood and detritus.

Those who glimpsed him might have had their attentions drawn to the red tinged eye lenses of the Space Marine's helm, glinting with a fiery internal light not all that dissimilar to that of the xenos themselves. Still, for all the similarities it was still almost impossible to look upon the warrior's ceaseless stare and not feel a small pull of trepidation in the face of the hatred burning behind it.

Others would gaze upon the uncommon armament he carried. A whirring chainglaive of clearly aged design that howled it's fury in fits and spurts with every forward step, the leather bound length of the shaft strung through with thin black wrought iron chains upon which hung cardinal bloodstones as well as many smaller tokens the Novitiate couldn't quite make out.

Not that she cared overmuch for such minor details, her focus squarely upon the intricately embossed heraldry born upon his left pauldron.

A silver bracketed ' _I_ ' mounted with a deaths head, a top the sacred texts of the _Litany Xenomortis._ That ancient catechism standing in defiance of all alien life that sought to threaten the Imperium since time immemorial.

The unmistakable symbol of the Holy Ordos of the Emperor's Inquisition, more specifically the emblem marking the Chamber Militant of the Ordo Xenos, the _'Alien Hunters'._

 _'Deathwatch...!?'_

Tenuous peace was utterly shattered in the guttural snarl of the halberd's gore caked teeth and the timber _*SNAP*_ of a ceramite pauldron colliding into malleable flesh at speed.

A mammoth apelike brute, one that had until that moment waded through the fusillade of las and heavy weapons fire with the crude veracity of an Ork Nob, was suddenly and unceremoniously propelled through the malaise of dust and grime from the impact. Landing several meters from where it had started in a broken mound of snapped vertebrae, crushing more than a few of its smaller kindred beneath its sheer bulk in the process.

On and on the Angel sidestepped or simply shouldered aside his way through the tight press of abominations, carving apart all that might have stood before him with contemptuous indifference and a casual flick of his weapon. Determined and hardly even seeming to pay attention to the open field of carnage and fallen bodies he left in his wake.

None of the chittering xenos even able to get within a few yards of the wrathful juggernaut in their midst, at least not whole by any stretch of the word.

That glaive darting and maneuvering forth as might screaming serpent, rending thick gobbets of viscera and gaseous dark matter with every bite of its chain teeth, claiming its due in flesh before being drawn back to the next victim, the next foe. Wielded with a subtle sort of thoughtlessness and familiarity that spoke of decades.

Screeching shrieks issued down from the treetops, winged hybrid beasts descending from the tree tops intent on this newest champion. Some struck down by stray Imperial fire, drawing the attention of many, but not all. The largest of the griffon beasts, the leader judging form position fell like a stone, intent on crushing the Marine in its fore-talons.

The Deathwatch hardly even slowed...

A hissing snarl streamed forth from the helm's vox-grille, the blunted butte of the halberd thrusting forth to cave in the beaked skull of the Alpha in an explosive discharge. The impact crackling with the tell tale potency of an inbuilt disruptive power field generator, a burst of sudden force hurling the broken, and now for the most part headless, corpse back into the air for a final short lived flight.

Such a relentless advance, and for whatever reason he was coming Delphine's way. Showing no signs of ceasing at all, such directed violence, such a killing urge...

Perhaps foolishly, the Sister was unable to quite dismiss the memory of other warriors bedecked in near identical crimson livery. Pitiless laughter barking while women armed in both the red and the black were cut down before them, tormented, their bodies twisting into monstrous parodies and minds shattered...a threat to be faced. All Delphine could see was the mutated face of the Sorcerer, Viridis, overlapping with the black helm.

The comparison twisting her own features into a heady scowl despite her attempts to hold her choler in check. A pointless effort, zeal could not be contained, and nor could the call for vengeance.

" _Monster!"_

Sister Mariana's Flamer rose in unsteady hands, trembling from a potent mixture of dread, fatigue, and righteous anger. She was going to see this genetic monstrosity fall, as her Sisters had, defying the mutant...yet...yet...

Hesitation kept her frozen in indecision, such hesitation no doubt sparing her life for reasons even she did not know. The ground trembling underfoot, but...but not because of the oncoming Astartes. A flicker of motion at the corner of her peripherals, a dim flicker of glowing light that made had her looking back in a weary gaze.

 _ **"Rgh...Focus, Sister!"**_ His rebuke, corrupted by static and seething anger, was the gruff brutal rasp of a feral world predator. Underscored by the barest hint of something that might have been considered noble, even melodious... **_"BLASTED...OUT OF MY WAY!"_**

Miraculously, rather than the bone splintering impact or agony of ripping serrated teeth she had been expecting for the mortal sin of standing in his path, Delphine instead found herself abruptly shoved aside by a sliver gauntlet. Though none too gently.

Dazed and coughing bloody phlegm through familiar ache of ribs abused well beyond their tolerances, the Novitiate looked on in startled incredulity at the glowing jaundiced stinger that had impacted with the focused intensity of an artillery shell upon the very ground she'd been standing moments before. Attached to a gigantic scorpion beast the size of an _Immolator_ -Pattern Rhino _c_ hassis, which reared back in screeching displeasure at its prey's unexpected escape.

Pincer claws that could have no doubt bisected the Sister with ease, armor or no, clacking menacingly.

Still for those deadly adaptations, her Savior could have hardly cared less, spinning the glaive to deftly sever the stinging limb in a single fluid motion that carried into a leaping roll that placed the Space Marine within arms' length of the creature's furious multifaceted glare. A flicker of something primal reflected back in those ancient orbs...terror and confusion, as it sought to snap up the warrior, to bisect him in one lightning fast movement before he could capitalize, but it was too late.

Far too late...

With another of the wordless ear splitting howls he was swiftly becoming known for, the Deathwatch drove the curved carving blade affixed at the glaive's apex deep into the closest circular eye socket. Gripping the haft tightly for support, Delphine saw the Astartes brace himself even while using his considerable strength to shove the weapon in deeper, forcing the scorpion back on juddering legs, mandibles clacking indignantly.

If she'd thought his vox-amplified grunts painful to bear, they were as nothing to the agonized keening his prey released at the gunning of the relic weapon's ignition switch. Shimmering teeth, each sharp enough to carve an armored foe to ribbons while at rest, worked themselves into sudden and all too violent life, digging themselves forward deeper and deeper into the meat of the socket.

Sparks and chunks of gore spraying forth in equal measure, broken carapace stinging upon contact with the young woman's bare features, eliciting a low unbidden grunt of discomfort.

A sound issued forth from the Marine's vox-emitters, a thunderous throaty growl that Delphine realized with an instinctive shiver was laughter. Prodigious strength wrenching the weapon up and out through the thick bone chitin in a fountain that rained down across black painted ceramite and Sororitas Power Armour. The remnant's fading soon after until the Inquisition's warrior elite was surrounded by a thick choking miasma of darkness, from which only the burning lenses of his helm glowed true.

Dimly, the Scorpion stirred with none of it's previous grace, half its head reduced to mulched valleys of mistreated viscera. Easily sidestepping underneath a drunken swing of those massive pincers, its killer reached a free hand towards his waist, drawing forth a glowing plasma pistol from a char blackened holster.

 ** _"Wretched thing!"_** The growled words sounded almost bitter above the wailing death cries. The rage restrained almost as if the Marine himself was struggling to beat it down into submission. Disappointment evident in every syllable, though aimed at what she couldn't be certain _**"You're dead! Be silent!"**_

With little ceremony he loosed three quick volleys of such power Delphine could feel her skin prickling just by being in close proximity. Suffice it to say his opponent slumped to the moss strewn dirt seconds afterwards.

As it slowly disintegrated, the Novitiate was left alone in a space suddenly, if only momentarily, devoid of hostiles.

Well, all hostiles aside from the seething Marine staring down at her dispassionately for a few frantic beats of her heart, the organ thudding madly within her chest.

Seeming almost drawn to the sound pumping through her veins, helmeted head dipping ever so slightly in time with the rhythm, until turning away sharply with almost forced reluctance, holstering the smoking pistol once again and clutching the massive glaive all the tighter. So much so Delphine imagined she could hear the ceramite of his gauntlets straining against metal, the charms quivering from barely contained tension.

The weapon hungered...the Sister could sense it, as ridiculous as it sounded. Such thoughts bordered on the Machine Cult's blasphemies, but the impression was there all the same.

"M-My...My thanks, Space Marine." The words sounded disgustingly weak, and Delphine couldn't help but notice the Astartes looked to agree. "By the Emperor's grace, you...!?"

 _ **"I have no need for any grace or thanks, girl."**_ Hitting with the force of a power fist, the dismissal stole the breath from her lungs. Heat building across her cheeks in embarrassment and to her horror...shame. To b talked down to by one of the Emperor's Angels _**"Now stand, this war isn't yet finished. Not yet, anyway."**_

With that his helm turned to regard the invisible boundary at which the other monsters stood, deciding whether or not to attack.

Such a choice was soon be made for them, of that the Sister of Battle had no doubt. The Astartes almost sounding eager at the prospect of more killing, more slaughter. Beyond righteous zeal, this was something more, something she wasn't certain she approved of.

Still the sounds of battle were quickly resuming, accompanied by the distant familiar roar of the Imperial Knight. One of those that had charged the beast birthed by Viridis' fall. _The Verdant Dawn,_ currently suffering in dire straits as a dual headed serpentine beast sought to crush the machine in its scaled coils...

 _ **"On your feet!"**_

As the Sororitas clambered indelicately to follow his demand, aided none to gently by the genetic demigod's crushing grasp, she finally saw the only other mark of note that took prominent place upon the Space Marine's right shoulder pauldron. Heraldry painted in the colors of his original chapter of origin, allowed by fervent tradition as ancient as Delphine's own Order to remain where almost all else had been uniformly discarded in favor of the black.

A crimson tear drop of what could only have been blood, trapped within a serrated saw blade...a curious symbol she recognized only by the bitter words and insults of her elder Sister Superiors. Women who had decried the bearers of such an emblem as feral savages at best, treacherous heretics at worst. A chapter of deviants and madmen in stark mockery of their vaunted progenitor.

A mark that made her blood run cold, and her heart pound all the faster...something the Flesh Tearer standing before her no doubt enjoyed.

* * *

Fleeing with all haste from bloodthirsty monsters that had fallen upon the servants of her Lord in a frenzy of tooth and talon, the Servant of the Forgotton One stumbled through a maze of towering trees and endless brambles upon bare and blistered feet. Emerald coated limbs catching at her acolyte robes like grasping claws to draw bloody crimson lines about her exposed limbs and face.

Each bringing with them the expectation of being dragged back, borne down, ripped apart by flashes of white teeth...

What breath remained to her spilled forth in ragged gasps despite the pungent aroma of viscera and decay mixing with the strange heady scents of this new world, this forgotten Remnant...so tired...so lost...

But Claret couldn't stop, despite knowing not to where she ran. The path her trembling mortal terrors had brought her couldn't be any less dangerous than the carnage she'd left behind.

What's more, to stop was to fall short, and to fall short was to die...that was the law of things. A law she'd learned when she had still been 'Clara the waif', 'Clara the Orphaned Nothing' amid a vagrant cruiser of nothings, a little girl hiding in the shadow cast by a crueler brother...

But this place, this was supposed to be where the running came to an end...where they could all be free...

"...T-This... _This_ isn't how it was supposed to be, not... _ah_! Not at all!"

Glories uncountable, a paradise beyond all imagining where the faithful might find proper reward for their dedication...and so they had. The distant cries of agony as those who had sacrificed and offered all were torn apart, blended together with the gleeful roars and savage howls of their bestial murderers.

The cacophony of it all chipping away at a skull already on the verge of splitting, pressures both physical and beyond seething behind her eyes ...

"This can't be correct, Viridis promised us! He swore to us all... _Ah_!?"

A bloodthirsty howl, cruel and utterly without thought of mercy much like that of the Neverborn, reverberated through the trees and stole the young Apostle's words. What remained lost in a senseless screech of animal panic that tore itself from her throat as something caught Claret's foot, sending the young woman pitching forward hard to the forest floor in a rash tumble of flailing limbs, tattered robes, and scattered leaves.

All sense of poise and training, the authority she'd commanded over her fellow mortals as a favored servant of her Lords, all of it was forgotten in the expectation of slavering jaws about her throat. The pain of claws rending meat, and a swift return to the sea of souls...but nothing was forthcoming.

Nothing but the stinging pain from scraped palms and the incessant ache of the infernal sunlight filtering down through branches high above as she opened dark eyes stained and crusted by bloody tears.

To see the cause of her delay was only more disheartening.

Curses in the ancient dead tongue of old lost Nostromo sprang unbidden like venom from painted lips. Echoes of a life and culture she'd long abandoned, lost to screams in blackest night as armored demigods had descended in their terrible glory...

Of all things, an exposed root had caught the Sorceress' foot as she'd fled, reaching out from the soil like a hand seeking to draw her back. Not a fearsome daemon, or a dog of the False Emperor. A root...

A pitiful thing, wispy and brittle...yet in the midst of her shame, anger, and loss it was the most hateful thing she knew...and she desired it destroyed. Utterly and completely.

" ***-* _Phaos Aqshy_ *-*"**

Claret felt the dark words, syllables far removed from the guttural slang of Nostromo or rather any tongue understood let alone spoken by sane minds, scald her tongue even as she gave them proper voice that wasn't quite hers. Intense searing agony wracking her sides as she coughed up a lungful of sodden red choked ashes from crimson lips, but the effects they held were clear enough as they were absolute.

The wayward root, and by extension the towering flora it had sprung from, was in the process of being consumed wholesale by writhing traceries of unnatural flame that seemed to have sprung from the wood itself and committed entirely to its destruction. Burning malignantly from the inside out and spreading like a living creature, contained to its intended victim as no true fire could be by the laws of the material universe. Bark and sap, that which gave it form and life, now converted the very fuel that saw it into ruin against all will of reality.

She had ordered the root and its core to burn, to consume itself until naught remained but ah, and it had done so brilliantly.

Yet she felt nothing...no satisfaction, no vindication...

Nothing but that same empty bitterness and sense of failure that had been her only companions since the fall of her Master.

The feelings that had dogged her heels as the Cultist had fled from the sounds of battle as Loyalist and Chosen alike were struck down by those curious parodies of Neverborn...shadowed things bearing some similarity to the denizens of the Warp, yet lesser.

Lacking in the individuality or devoted aspect of a true Daemonic manifestation, these beings possessed higher processes devoted to little beyond an instinctive desire to seek fear and cause suffering, especially the latter. An almost all consuming urge or so her brief mental probings had discovered, one that still irked the soft meat of her mind just to think about.

In many ways they were more akin to those piteous entities birthed of intense or particularly potent emotions or moments. Given existence through the sheer reality warping qualities of the Eye of Terror itself and the power of the feelings that had spawned them. Wriggling mindless things of raw warp essence that might appear as putrescent flies or scrambling misshapen cretins, rarely existing for more than mere heartbeats at a time before once more being consumed.

Inevitably and irrevocably drawn back by the ever present tides of the Great Ocean and subsumed. They were of the Gods as sweat or shed skin cells was to any other living creature, beneath notice. Minor aspects of a greater unified whole.

Yet these were different, though she knew them all the same, these _'Grimm Tidings'_ her Lord Viridis had described. Creatures formed by chaos and anarchy both, beasts drawn from the nightmares and psychic imprints of mortals in those shapes best suited to carry out the will of the Forgotten One.

The dark Hounds that had assailed the warring lines, scenting the negative emotions of their prey, those merely harbingers of the Lady's...what? Displeasure?

 _'We did all that was demanded of us...why? Why- **agggh!?** '_

Her vision swam and she clutched for her sides with a barely suppressed sob, the whole of her mortal senses growing cloudy, tinged a violent vitae tinged red as her Lord's final ' _Gift_ ' reeled deep within her gut. Whispers of a foreign _something,_ not someone, chirped its feelings and impressions into hers, touching her mind and her soul with those of its own and staining them in kind.

A nascent presence she could not define, a ' _Passenger'_...

Claret understood the concept, in theory as so much a thing like this could be described as such, but still failed to fully grasp many of the esoteric concepts Viridis had attempted to convey.

Understandable really, seeing as the Word Bearer turned Prophet had crooned the blasphemous science and nightmarish litanies during the procedure itself. His crimson gauntlets buried to the wrists inside the fragile body of his favored supplicant as she lay bound to a stone effigy constrained deep within the bowels of a specially anointed apothecarion that acted as surgery and temple in equal measure.

At least in that most delicate of rituals, her flesh tattooed with runes and sigils of the various powers. Blessings in the ancient tongues of the Neverborn.

His loyal servant forced to look upon the works inflicted upon her in abject horror and panicked fascination both, and my the things she'd seen...

There had been no sedatives to calm her or ease the agonies of the ritual, or any additives of a kind beyond those necessary to sustain her life and little else.

Even those slight allowances were more narcotic than balm. Gifts gained in service of the Youngest god masquerading in the form of stimulants and hallucinogens that had twisted her sense of time's passage and assaulting her consciousness with dancing warp-spun mania the young woman still shivered to relive.

But the Magus still knew, in a cruel way, what had been done to her. What had been taken away...and what had been added.

Claret had glimpsed that which the Word Bearer had set within her flesh and been scarred, what the corrupted Astartes had sutured to her being with words not unlike those she'd uttered moments before.

Not quite a warp flask in form, but something close to it. Implanted amidst scripted binding wards carefully scarred along the linings of her innards and bound within.

A " _Guide of Sorts_ " the Apostle declared through a haze of leering pupils and tainted visions, laughing joyously as he'd worked to keep his oh so delicate patient bound to this material life. A tenuous enough prospect, and one Viridis had almost failed in many times.

By some rare mercy of the Powers, she had been spared true memory of those brief times in which she'd experienced true death. The nightmares that plagued the middling hours of sleep were indeterminate if disquieting, soon lost among other more redolent horrors.

Such was life spent in Eye-Space that even death could only hold attention for so long.

Another internal tremor had her on the ground, retching thin strings of acidic black phlegm at the whims of the being swelling within. Not a wholly painful feeling she supposed, not so much as mortals understood it, but there would be a cost...there always was. Viridis had taught her that.

 _'I need his guidance, if he were here...!?'_

More movement, more pain, the Passenger was punishing her for her weakness. For being too...human.

The inscribed wards only able to restrain it's actions to a point, but the thing inside her could still pass judgment, and it would never consider a weakling mortal its proper host. Even if it had to kill her in the process, that she knew.

And that was not all...

 _"_ No... _No!_ Viridis is fallen in abject failure at the cusp of greatest glory, his appointed task not yet done. Aborted at the last..."

Harsh words to contemplate indeed, yet as the slain Apostle himself had spoken in his first lessons so long ago " _The gravest Truths are often twisted daggers, Claret...those that pierce deeper and wound the most keenly"._

Denying that the sacrifices borne by her Lord and his Fellowship, that the decades...nigh _centuries_ of rites, rituals, and tribulations in preparation for Her release had all come to naught...

 _'Of course, this is not the end...something did come of this...'_

The _Lady's Gaze_ and the burning of Cadia at the claws of Warmaster Abaddon had illuminated the path to the _Lost One's_ Prison, true. Yet even they could not break the Cage which held the Presence bound within, only weakening and spreading its bars a merest fraction.

But the way was open, she herself had glimpsed it in those desperate moments of transition through the Ether...where weaker minds were mercifully blind, Claret had been allowed to see. Her Essence opened to the stuff of the Immaterium and the laughing godlings that dwelt within, reeling and bloodied raw by the loss of her Lord, his presence torn away violently at the sudden reality of his loss.

Wholly vulnerable to visions that had assailed her thoughts like tendrils questing for prey in caverns dark. Knowledge capable, of this the Sorceress was quite certain, of shattering her sanity and rending her Soul to the denizens hunting in the Sea of souls, but even so could not yet recall with any real clarity.

In fact, the only evidence in truth was known only by the faded scars left by the initial violation, raw patches in her consciousness inducing maddening flashes of insight for the most part. Mental engrams deeply embedded, impossible to comprehend fully by her reckoning. Locked tight behind self-imposed mental and psychic labyrinthine barriers both in a matrix of impulse and memory, similar to those employed by the enigmatic Alpha Legion.

The sort of psychic defenses that could only be broken down by time, effort, or specific task as set by her ' _Passenger_ '...leaving her with little to work with and at the mercy of the nameless presence she carried, helpless.

Such was often the case when dealing with those capricious beings that called the Empyrean their home. Time would see those doors undone, she had to believe.

But that which she _could_ understand, now that was done so with the utmost dual certainty of Purpose and Faith.

There was no doubt in her mind that it was this weakening sliver, that tear in the Veil sundered by the miniature pinpoint Ruinstorm Viridis had concocted, which had allowed Claret and what remained of her Coven, as well as it turned out those spiteful Imperial lapdogs, to slip through into this place.

This new unfamiliar world, seething with corruption and nobility both...

It was then, in that moment for a few frantic heartbeats, the enormity of Claret's task, the responsibility hoisted upon her, came to light. And that most holy of words... _'Opportunity'._

A new beginning, one that was now hers to carry as Viridis had instructed in those pain filled trials he'd so enjoyed subjecting her too.

A path by which she must continue to walk...to keep moving forward. A whole new world lying before her, tasks left unfulfilled by her Master.

"What happens now...in these precious moments of change, is the will of the Powers. Of Chaos Manifest."

The declaration bolstered aching limbs, stealing discomfort as she picked herself up from her wretched state.

A paltry mirror to the slow but steady rise of the forsaken one, lost but not forgotten...

"Long live the Outcast God, the Maiden of Malice...By the blood of the faithful, she shall be **_free_**!"

* * *

 _ **-END**_

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all, finally we're back with Imperial boots on Remnant. Know it took awhile, my fault, but I hope it was entertaining. Delphine's bit took me forever, and as always I'd appreciate any feedback y'all might have. Things you want to see, things you liked, etc. Should also say that going forward if people enjoy Chaos and want that side to take more of a center stage I am entirely open to showcasing them more.**

 **Claret is far from the only follower of the Outcast God that is set to appear, and just because the Imperials have appeared more doesn't mean they're set to win in the end. That heretical option is still very much open.**

 **And yes there is also a new Space Marine, one of the Flesh Tearing variety, Deathwatch adding in a bit of extra fun. Was thinking about it and I realized that it probably wouldn't hurt to have the concept of Astartes become known to Beacon's inhabitants, at least then they'll know why the population of Menagerie took a sudden violent free fall.**

 **Wanted a chapter that could be present, but also not just take command like an Ultramarine or an Imperial Fist might. Flesh Tearer's seemed a good fit, and they're known for making great first impressions right? Right?**

 **So with that said, meet...**

 **\- Sarkha of the Flesh Tearers, Seconded to the Deathwatch Chapter. (Bringing the Rage of Sanguinius to Remnant in the way only a Flesh Tearer can.)**

 ** _-Questions-_**

 _ **To Anon: If such a thing were to happen it would be if and when the Trooper earns it. At least to the exacting standards of a dignified Junior Officer of the Commissariat. Will say helping said Officer take the head off a Traitor Astartes in the midst of apotheosis is a damn good first step though.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey all, know its been awhile since I last updated this story (Almost a month), good news neither I or this fic is dead (Probably a bit overworked and exhausted most nights) but not dead. Just got picked up for a new job earlier this month and onboarding has been rather involved as well as work on other stories aside from this one. Thought it might be nice to give you guys a nice long chapter, hope it's worth the wait somewhat.**

* * *

 **Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 7 - And New Beginning-**

* * *

 _ **Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.**_

— Popular Excerpt of The Imperial Guard Tactical Manual

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Unknown - ?)**

"And so...it finally begins, does it?"

The Queen in the shadowed depths of her castle reclined back, alone but for the presence of a tentacled _Seer_ that bobbed idly in some turgid mimicry of breathing.

Her Grace delighting in the ambient feel of the amethyst hued psycho-reactive crystal that made made up her chair's construction pulsing softly. Standing in stark contrast to an arm the deathly pallor of a corpse, covered with vivid veins that seemed to glow in sympathetic response.

A contented sigh, marked with the barest hints of what might have been excitement or perhaps trepidation, passing her lips as the strength of the corrupted Dust massaged an ageless consciousness that had seen much and done far more.

Less awe-inspiring if a far more comfortable sibling to the jagged throne she so usually occupied while in the throes of her councils, it nevertheless provided a magnificent overlook of her kingdom laid out before her eyes in all its barren majesty. Vast wastelands stretching to the horizon, dotted with mammoth outcroppings of the same crystal upon which she lounged reaching skyward for the heavens and the spawning pits, overflowing with a viscous bubbling substance.

Pools of utter blackness from which her servants...her Grimm Aspect, arose and took on violent life in service to their Mistress.

Examples of a dozen varied forms wrenching themselves free from the depths of their shadowed womb, shaped from the dreams and fears of man and given animus by powers that were old when the first humans first pulled themselves from the sum filled oceans to crawl upon the dirt.

Each one born with a simple shared purpose in mind...To destroy life, to sow chaos and incite anarchy in the hearts and minds of mortal souls, to close the curtain on that lie known as civilization.

"About time they finally live up to their potential."

Salem mused to herself despite the lack of verbal company, watching with renewed interest as a Beowolf's snarling muzzle broke the opaque surface of one of the more distant pools. A sight she had witnessed countless times previously since the first so long ago, such as to be almost rendered dull and trivial in the extreme, but not this time.

This time there was something different, something... _off_.

"And of course _others_ were bound to take notice."

Rather than the languid first steps of a newborn, this particular specimen thrashed and yowled within the amniotic depths of the cradle. Burning within its skull was not simply the cruel hungry light of an intelligent predator, but the raging uncontrollable savagery of the purely insane, thick runnels of ruddy smoking crimson dribbling from every orifice and turning an already terrifying foe into a facet of abject butchery.

Others of its kind noticed the aberration within their midst and acted to see it slain, though not before the Beowolf had lunged forth in a frenzy to tear throat from the brother that had preceded it, along with more than half a dozen others far larger than itself. The charnel beast's final act before being dragged to the wasted ground and dismembered by the Pack Alpha was to loose an all too human scream of furious adulation to the skies, for it had shed blood in its short existence and had its blood shed in turn.

Servant or Victim, the Blood God cares not from whence the blood flows, only that it flows...a brutish philosophy, but Salem had always admired the tenacity of those so truly committed to such a creed.

The Bloodborn misfit forgotten almost as swiftly in the time it had taken her to blink, the Queen raised her crimson gaze to take in the full majesty of that which it had focused upon as it died. The sky, already tinted a deep red by sheer virtue of her lasting presence in this domain, was now stained the further vibrant scarlet of arterial spray spotted by flicker flashes of shifting aetheric tides that glowed with the otherworldly prominence she so desired yet equally despised.

If one looked for long, they might see what might have been hints of movement in the storm, evidence of something vast moving just beneath the waves like some great ocean predator.

The reality of the phenomena was not far removed from the metaphorical, though if a mortal really were curious or foolish enough to witness such things firsthand then they would already have been rendered gibbering and insensate by the experience.

One did not idly stare at what lay beyond the veil of creation and remain whole...much less sane, after all.

Salem made to close her eyes, to listen to the emphatic song emanating from this smallest rift in unreality, a tune that spoke of the simultaneous life and death of every sentient creature that had and ever would exist...but was quite rudely interrupted by the slightest tremor in the ground beneath her feet.

The disturbance followed by a noise that overwhelmed even the wailing pain playing behind a universe, if only for an instant.

That it even done that much testament enough...

Not quite a roar, such a simple word was not nearly suitable to describe the sheer pain, anger, and wrath the sound conveyed as to render all else eerily silent by comparison. The birthing cries of Grimm, the ruination of the storm above, all were as nothing before such a thing...

A building crescendo vibrating from the depths far below and traveling through the breadth of the stones surrounding her sanctum and upsetting the _Seer's_ delicate equilibrium. Walls shuddered and quaked in response, while a fell chill bit painfully at the husk of flesh the ancient presence wore. The twisted thing at its core pumping all the faster, in fear, in excitement...in rapture?

As though an headsman's ax hovered at the apex of its swing, such a vehement pressure, such uncertainty it inspired...

To feel unsure was such a sensation, a novel experience and a thrilling one at that...

"Indeed, that's right my old friend. You must sense it too, don't you? Can you feel it?" She spoke, knowing that the being she addressed likely couldn't hear the words, much less understand them by this point...but the knowledge that such a possibility existed... "Hmm, yes of course you do. Events are finally progressing as they should, as we both knew they must."

She reached out a hand, gingerly stroking the spherical surface of the Grimmspawn at her side to ease its trembling.

"Soon, so very soon all the pieces will find their way onto the board proper, and the game will properly begin."

A dark Aura emanated from her in shadowed tendrils, drifting from the edges of her dress and needling their ponderous way into the floor and prison beneath, the cries of her fellow drifting away softly.

Not gone, not quite, it's power merely stripped aside with what remained left to keen for her amusement.

"Generations of skulking in the shadows in a cage of our own making, waiting for a soul with the strength to rattle the bars from without...tell me, aren't you excited as I am?"

A disturbance at the doors gave her pause, the rapturous smile that had built across her features easing into the more regal manner she had taken as her own. The glorious view of her kingdom blurring and fading back to torch lit stone at a curt wave.

"Doctor Watts." Salem addressed the intruder directly without even turning, a mustachioed man in a suit of refined make crumpling to his knees looking quite the worse for wear. Rendered pale-faced and shivering in the wake of the such raw emotion run rampant, his mortal mind not quite possessing the proper fortitude by no failing of his own.

Most would have been rendered catatonic, caught between arguing old 'friends' such as he had been...

"Surely someone has told you that it's rather rude to eavesdrop." A brow rose at the splash of stomach contents splattering across the floor, the scent of bile and rank sweat pungent in the small space. "Someone may get the wrong impression."

It took a moment for the gentleman to compose himself before he answered, face taut with a mix of embarrassment and fear she could taste on his Aura...a sour tang by all accounts. "Y-Yes, my...my Lady? A thousand apologies!" Always ready to improvise, the Atlesian mortal debased himself further in exaggerated obeisance, careful to avoid the spilled mess as he did so. "I...well, I of course didn't mean to intrude upon your moment of solitude, however there have been new developments regarding the phenomena. I felt it might prudent that you be kept apprised of..."

"Speak then." The order was delivered with measured grace, but it was an order nonetheless. Her time was not to be wasted, not now... "Go on. It must be important."

"Just so." He straightened, adopting his usual poise with arm held behind his back to conceal the trembling. His eyes betraying him however, never straying far from the floor. Mortals and their tells... "It has to do with those curious Storms. Of the systems we've confirmed, few have remained stable, either gaining impetus or dispersing in fits and spurts without pattern. Many have even moved on from their origin point seemingly at random in blatant defiance of convention, most in fact."

"And why wouldn't they?" Salem said in reply, ceasing her ministrations and allowing the Seer to pull away. "It only makes sense for an audience to seek out entertainment, does it not?"

"An audience, apologies but what...?" He fell silent as his Mistress waved aside the question quite literally, knowing better than to belabor the point. Instead he focused on what was important. "How can I be of service?"

"Send word to Vale, the situation has changed and our plans must be carefully reconsidered before moving forward. The time we have prepared for, but never expected, has come. We must be ready."

Watts nodded with a barely concealed furrowing of his brow, no doubt railing at the thought of all his perfectly laid plans and seeded traps within Atlas Security coming to naught. Still, disappointed or not he held his tongue, especially at the sudden motion of the Seer drifting towards him on buoyed tendrils.

"This Grimm holds knowledge of a certain soul, one I desire found and safeguarded into the custody of those loyal to us. Cinder is to see to it personally." The girl would rail against such an order, of that Salem had no doubt, but she would comply or risk the Black Queen's displeasure. "I trust the girl will know how to proceed, and the costs if she were to fail."

"I will see to it at once, have no doubt." He spun on his heel to leave, the _Seer_ already bobbing ahead of him across the threshold and out of sight, but paused before joining it. The scent of his Aura shifting, fear remained yes, but now it was joined by excitement, and a curiosity that was almost overwhelming. "Speaking of Cinder, these newcomers she reported...is this...is this truly _them,_ Salem? The ones you spoke of, the travelers from beyond the stars?"

Such a ravenous hunger for knowledge, it would be unfair not to offer some reward.

"Indeed, though I daresay they've traveled a fair bit further than that." Salem smiled, deigning to turn her full focus on the man, an honor she could see he wasn't sure he wanted. "Some I imagine will prove rather useful, others... _less_ so. Dear Ozpin will do his best to take advantage, as he always has."

"Pity for them." Watts executed a flawless bow before exiting the sanctum, lip twitching a fraction upon noticing the absence of the mess he'd made. No doubt wondering just how that could be possible in that complex little mind of his.

Once more Salem sat alone in the darkness with her thoughts, the plans centuries in the making now rested on a knife's edge.

Am all too mortal part of her railed against such disorder, while the deeper parts of her reveled in the anarchy. Those crucial slivers of her being still connected to the gestalt consciousness forced into slumber so so long ago, forced to interact in this prison of a world through this dream of a shell, manipulating and scheming through the eyes and actions of others...

"...but no longer." She uttered the words softly as though to say them any louder might render it false, secure in the knowledge that the one to whom she spoke could hear. "The seeds of mankind's resistance you sowed so long ago have withered in this so-called ' _Age of Peace',_ growing indolent and for all his many faces and schemes will not be able to stop what begins now, any more than you could, my friend. With the gods as my immortal witnesses, I will win our little game, that which was forgotten _will_ become whole once more. And when that day does come, I can only hope there is some small shred of the being I knew left to appreciate the sight of a universe in disorder."

Folding her hands across her lap, the Black Queen settled back in her throne as the sound of distant screams made themselves known once more...

* * *

. **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Emerald Forest Interior, Vale)**

A rushing current of roiling midnight flesh and snapping teeth, and tide had all but changed in a flurry of targeting runes so clumped together as to be one solid mass of crimson.

Traitor and Loyalist alike vanishing under their sudden arrival, ripped apart, subsumed in the morass...

 _Verdant Dawn_ itself stood besieged by a coiling serpentine abomination of twin monochromatic maws and a score of its minor kin nipping at her heels. A fact its wailing alarms made all too clear to the irritated young knight. Much to her chagrin...

" _Grr_ - _Rragh_! Be... _ah_!? Be _silent_ , void take you!"

Vivian dismissed the chiming alert beacon with a terse thought, crushing the flickering warnings of wayward cognitive systems beneath the host of sensation and sensorium data flowing along her implant hard-links and into the manifold. Middling matters of temperature coolant levels, actuator pressure intakes, hull integrity... especially that last one, all dismissed and cast aside with the same succinct manner of privilege and scorn.

"I demand... _rrgh_! **_Silence_**!"

As if in mocking answer to her impetuous plea, another intense shudder wracked the Knight's frame as something deep within the depths of the sacred armor gave way with a snapping _*twang*_ and the whole of the machine lurched forward dangerously. The impetus of the motion enough to strain the blessed bindings of her restraint harness and snap her helmeted head back against her throne, stars dancing across her vision and stomach acid burning in her throat...

 _'Stand Tall, Stand Firm...'_

More meaningless distractions she dispelled with an outcry of sheer unmitigated hate and fury, transmitted through the Throne Mechanicum unwittingly as a bellow of the _Dawn's_ valorous war horns. Sonic emanations from the vox-casters stripping the branches of nearby treetops and bringing the chaff below, traitor and loyalist alike, to their knees clutching at burst eardrums.

But at least the whining in the cockpit had ceased...for now any way. Small mercy though it was.

It was all unnecessary in the end after a fashion. The Scion knew well enough of the straining hull plates and screaming rotatory couplings afflicting her Mount, all threatening to buckle under the pressure of the monster's writhing coils without another blaring reminder screaming incessant murder between her ears.

She didn't need detailed noospheric threat analyses, exloaded data-squirts, and the like to know the danger facing the ancient machine. Such was simply minutia...

Vivian's spiritual connection to _Verdant Dawn's_ Machine Spirit was such that she could experience the machine's pains as she might her own body, and in many ways she was.

Psychosomatic bruising dappled the pale flesh of her shoulder and arms under her mesh battlefield suit, physical echoes mirroring the demi-titan's own suffering. The "Cost of Glory", as it was known to her house, a sensation to be treasured.

Her heart seared as though on fire, reflecting the pulsing heat of the reactor blazing mere meters from where she sat, in perfect harmony with the drumbeat thumping in her chest.

For all intents and purposes, Vivian Stahl was the _Verdant Dawn_...and it was an exultant experience, as much as it was untenable. Darkness threatening to over take her from lungs refusing air as though she herself was the one being slowly, but assuredly, compressed beyond limit.

Moreover it was all the Scion could do to keep herself and her Mount aloft and balanced. A delicate if constant dance of equalizing hydraulic pressures that threatened to send both Knight and Wyrm crashing to the moss strewn ground, and the pitched battle raging at her feet.

An act that, if done with care, might see no small number of the traitor Heretics crushed in the offing, but would no doubt mean certain doom for the pilot and machine.

 _'No...such an ignoble galling end, that will not be my fate...by the Emperor's name, I deny it!'_

And that denial coursed through the manifold, making itself reality in the booming cacophony pouring from the war horns. Her foe answering in kind, hissing its hatreds as fangs the length of a man tried and failed to pierce Vivian's flesh...the _Verdant Dawn's_ flesh. Teeth skittering in a welter of fresh sparks and doing little more than scuffing the plate and marks of valor adorning the war engine.

Emblems gifted and honors earned over centuries of devoted service to the Throne, stretching back all the way to the earliest days of the Great Crusade. _Verdant Dawn_ had marched to glorious war under the banner of Vivian's ancestors and that of the Emperor himself.

Her chainsword having roared its defiance against mankind's foes alongside those of the noble Blood Angels, to this day bearing the ruby droplet embossed along its hilt for deeds committed during the purging of the Eldar Xenos breed on the glass sands of Patayin Secundus.

The Armor graced and blessed by the careful ministrations of her Family's Sacristans and even the Techmarines of the Adeptus Astartes, tested on the anvil of violent conflict and weathering its scars as any true Knight should.

 _'I will not fall here... **We** will not fall here!'_

Stand Tall, Stand Firm...Stand Tall, Stand Firm...Stand Tall, Stand Firm...

But despite her resolve the pressure continued to build, and though it galled her to admit it even the finest plate had its limits. Even forge blessed adamantium...

A deep vibratory tremble of straining metallic bonding rivets and structural bracing set Stahl's teeth rattling on edge, the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. Her temper mounting once more as though in answer...

The offending beast in question, the scum that dared to harass her...a monochrome horror of scaled slithering flesh, oh so similar to the perfidious _Drakon_ that had once plagued the virgin forests and peasant holdings of noble Ambria. That ancient fiefdom of House Stahl, an ancestral home Vivian herself had only ever seen in grainy pict-captures and the rare flickers of insight passed down by the Spirits of her predecessors.

Decades lost now to the swarms of the Great Devourer...

 _Verdant Dawn_ readily remembered facing such creatures in combat, it's spirit hungering relentlessly for the long ago joys of the kill. As it had so many times before Vivian Stahl had even been a thought, memories of a thousand battlefields quick to follow in succession. One after the other...

Purges inflicted upon the Stith'ad xenos-breed infesting the Bastion sub-sector, crusades undertaken alongside the storied Battle Fleet Corona, even shadows dating back to the latter days of the great Heresy...the rise of the Arch Traitor Horus.

Hundreds of legends spanning the breadth of millennia, detailing the deeds of _Verdant Dawn_ and those its might had seen carried into battle. All whispering in the furthest corners of the young Knight's mind of past hunts and glories.

Ghosts an remnants such as her own father, imprinted forever within those deep internal matrices of the Throne Mechanicum.

Each seeking to impart their influence and experience upon their successor. Sharing in her anger, scorn, and disgust in equal measure and expressing it in a rushing tide of false phantom emotions and data spikes that set her pulse racing ever faster.

In their gestalt melding of consciousness they urged Vivian to join them in that shared tale. So tempting an offer...

The chance to walk in honor with the heroes of her childhood fancies...it would be so easy to give in, so easy to allow the feral consciousness of the Knight-Titan to vent its wrath and take hold the reigns of their shared bond, to surrender and fade...

That relentless drive for the freedom and sheer childish thrill of combat proved nearly enough to overwhelm the young woman. To see her awareness consumed by the Machine...nearly...

 **But not today.**

"Xenos filth!"

Anger seethed through the declaration, a hatred instinctively bred into all of the Imperium's citizens and had been uttered throughout the length and breadth of humanities' long history. A sentiment spread by billions across a million worlds and more.

"You dare to lay your sullied paws on me!? You... ** _YOU ARE NOTHING BUT RODENTS UNDER HEEL! LOWER EVEN! NAUGHT BUT SCUM CRAWLING...!_ "**

Overtime the words ceased to be Vivian's alone. Her mouth a puppet of the brutal Machine consciousness declaring its innumerable hatreds for all to hear, but she hardly even noticed.

An idea had formed in her mind, a risky sacrifice, but perhaps her only recourse for victory. The Scion of House Stahl could do little with the _Drakon_ coiled about her Mount's staggering profile after all, a fact that needed to change and swiftly.

A sharp jerk of strained hydraulics and motive force pushed well beyond the breaking point heralded the unbearable agony coursing through her right arm, the mechanisms supporting the joint finally giving way with a thunderous _*SNAP*_.

Suppressing the agonized scream building in her throat, Vivian gritted her teeth against the encroaching sympathetic numbness the Throne inflicted through her bond. Ignoring the sudden dead weight hanging at her side as the arm supporting her cannon lost all function, and her true limb fell motionless in kind.

 _'Such an insult will be repaid, pain in retribution... **VENGEANCE**!'_

Her focus more intent on urging the Knight's spirit to bear it's suffering, for she shared in its pain and its anger...and guided this sudden opportunity birthed through sacrifice. The _Drakon,_ stunned and hesitating at the self inflicted damage, relaxed its hold for but a moment, creating a gap through which Vivian drove the point of her sword up and in between the machine and it's tormentor.

Right at the intersection where cold black met stark white, both heads struggling against the inevitable, fanged maws snapping and hissing impotently at unforgiving plate. More alarms sounding in earnest, psychosomatic cuts staining the green and white fabric of her suit all the more.

Those chirping signs naught but the weakness of frail wisps and judging specters, Vivian knowing her steed could, and had, endured far worse.

In fact she was counting upon it,

Trapped at her side, the blade could do little more than lacerate the scales of its oily hide, but positioned as it was now...pained her. The angle pulled at cabling and connections along the limb, more warning chiming to life...even an incessant ping across the comm-lines courtesy of that Commissar from the Cadian Regiment House Krast been seconded too, no doubt struggling for survival somewhere below.

Stahl flatly dismissed them all in search of a kill, the needs of those that trod upon the ground like ants far beneath her notice.

Besides, her sensory systems detected the unmistakable signature of an Astartes fighting down below. In the wake of such aid the Commissar could afford wait, whatever the Cadian whelp thought in the meantime. And if she couldn't...well...

No, such annoyances barred no place as she brought the Reaper Chainblade to screaming life. Positioned and braced as it was by the monster itself, only further allowing diamond teeth to live up to their namesake, scything through scale to chew at the pulsating flesh and muscle beneath.

With a trumpeting bellow of victory more mechanical than flesh, both halves tumbled away from the _Dawn's_ frame in screeching agony.

 ** _"WRITHE ALONG THE GROUND WITH THE REST OF YOUR MISBEGOTTEN KIN, WYRM!"_**

The demi-Titan flexed freshly relieved mechanical joints in a clamor of clicking groans and creaking metal. Shaking off aches like a wounded hound, stomping at the wretches that dared cling to its stanchion legs, feeling bodies pulp under it's weight with finely tuned auspex returns and sensory data-loads.

 ** _"VERDANT DAWN, YOUR DOOM, STANDS BEFORE YOU NOW!"_**

Those few that still moved were swiftly reduced to acrid steam and cooked gristle under a steady barrage of widespread melta fire, Vivian's heart thundering in time with every blast. Where her gaze fell, the enemy did so as well, none standing before her.

Soon enough the forest floor held more in common with the glassed hellscape of a dying world...not unlike Cadia...such a beautiful sight...

Another ping echoed across the haze of the Sensorium and snapped her from her potent reverie, pulling her back to herself as the hollow fragmented signals of the Guard's inferior vox network invaded the sanctity of the manifold.

It was enough to set Vivian's hands curling into fists on the arms of her Throne as the Junior Commissar's clipped manner sounded between her ears, the utter disconnect from the _Dawn's_ primary systems sending a thrill of discomfort and need radiating through the base of her skull.

" _Scion Aspirant, Lady of Verdant Dawn respond at once!"_

The other woman sounded so infuriatingly composed, despite no doubt being assailed on all sides by bestial fowl. Only the distant vox distorted screams of her men killing and being killed in the background giving any indication at all of the close quarters fierceness of the battle. Cries punctuated every so often by the chugging roar of auto cannon fire or the explosive discharge of a bolt round.

 _"Scion Aspirant, respond!"_

'Scion Aspirant'...Throne, just the sound of that diminutive title was enough to set Vivian's teeth grinding.

It was degrading, demeaning...being spoken down to like a child.

She had walked the fires of her first battlefield, had slain the enemies of both liege lord and Emperor and had been blooded in turn. Vivian Stahl was a Knight, she was Lord Apparent of her House for Throne's sake.

Freeblade or no...

Questor Imperialis in truth...

"This is Lady Vivian Stahl responding, _Junior_ Commissar."

It was almost more growl than speech, but she managed to keep her tone level enough. Adopting once more the air of nobility that underlay every other aspect of her life.

A true Knight never showed her temper, never showed signs of weakness to those beneath her notice...

Still, the spoken reminder of this Catelin whelp's true rank served to bring a curl to her lip, a thrill of vindictive pleasure burning through the skeins of her Mount's humors. That woman little more than an up-jumped squire seeking to usurp the memory of her fallen mentor.

A base act indeed, devoid of dignity, incomparable to Vivian herself.

 _'The schola wretch should content herself with shooting cowards in the back, not interfering in the affairs of her betters!...'_

"Worry not. While these xenos mongrels are proving determined foes in numbers, those that remain are hardly of any true consequence. Little more than chaff really...!"

Stahl punctuated the boast with the almighty crash of her tread, flattening a sizable scorpion-like monstrosity the size of a Chimera Personnel Carrier that had been attempting to flank the Knight while her focus had been diverted. It's carapace giving way with a deafening _*CRACK*,_ dark matter and other offal rained across the field in a pleasant drizzle.

A renewed salvo from her pintle Melta easily putting an end to what little life remained in the beast, Vivian almost wishing she could sample the scent of the kill for herself rather than depending on the auto-senses of her Mount.

Small pity that, one quickly remedied by the feel of her chainsword sweeping aside another copse of trees. The beasts and cultists seeking to shelter in their shadows swiftly crushed to warm paste under the sheer weight of felled lumber, and no doubt stemming the tide somewhat.

Perhaps it would give those dirt strewn Guardsmen some relief in the meantime.

"Fear not however, _Verdant Dawn_ will march in support of your position at the soonest...!?"

 _"Do so, sooner, Stahl."_ Vivian bit her lip to stem an indignant gasp at the abrupt interruption, a shiver curdling her stomach at the cold fervor in the demand. _"I and other survivors have formed something of perimeter about the ruins of a derelict Command vehicle due west of your location, though the situation is tenuous at best. Your presence, and that of your Knight, would be most welcome."_

Just like that...the gall of this woman to petition her aide in such a demeaning manner. To expect her to come to heel like one of her ground-grubbing soldiery, and to dare insinuate that her aid was desired only by virtue of her steed.

Why, the mere thought of it was so appalling the Scion almost missed her next words.

Their meaning such that she almost wished she had, if only to spare herself the shame of neglect.

 _"Also...The Knight's Augur arrays, I trust they've detected the incoming aircraft?"_

 _..._ Such a small insignificant woman, who did she think she...wait...

"Incoming... _WHAT_!?"

* * *

"...is going on over there, you think?"

"Get back in here, you dolt! That's dangerous!"

"Ah chill out, Weiss-cream, heh heh... _'chill out'._ Look, it's crazy out here, this all is...!"

Ruby glanced up from her last minute adjustments to _Crescent Rose_ to catch sight her sister hanging precariously out the side of the Bullhead's open hatchway by her fingertips with flouting abandon and a winning smile, despite Weiss' glowering protests. Golden tresses whipping about in the potent mix winds and engine exhaust as the Huntress-in-training did her best to sneak a rough glimpse at just what Team RWBY and a whole squadron of Atlas and Beacon support craft were flying into.

In honest truth, the young leader hoped she did.

It'd be a whole lot more than Professor Ozpin and General Ironwood had been able to give them so far.

All anyone knew for certain was that something or more likely _somethings_ had definitely appeared in the wake of that weird storm. And if that weren't enough, whatever or whoever it was had done something to rile every Grimm in the Emerald Forest well beyond what even Beacon's initiation had accomplished and were even now under attack.

Most of the cameras spread throughout the Emerald Forest had gone down at one point or another, deactivated or destroyed no one knew. A few grainy images from before the feeds cut out all that she and the other first responders had to go on, those describing what looked to be more scenes taken out of old history books about the Great War than anything real.

Lines of men and women in strange uniforms, forming ranks against Remnant's scourge. All huddled about the ruins of ruined mechanical marvels on thick treads with guns as big as those utilized by Atlas warships.

That and more...much more, enough to leave even the General sweating or so Weiss pointed out. Ruby had thought he'd sounded fine, just a bit tense is all. They all were, and all were dealing with it in their own ways.

"...cause all I'm saying is this is pretty weird, right!? Like _really_...!?"

Yang continued on valiantly, struggling to make herself heard over the turbine's roar when a rogue patch of turbulence struck the craft. Blake's panicked reflexes snatching hold of the back of her jacket, violently spurred on by an earsplitting shriek from Weiss, all that kept the blonde from toppling head over heels out the side and down to the carpet of endless green below.

Not that she wouldn't have been in much danger from the fall, not Yang Xiao Long the 'Sunny Dragon ala Blonde Bombshell' herself, but with the number of Grimm rampaging about...

" _Whoa ah ha_! Guys!? Guys, I think I see...huh?" Yang brought out her tinted glasses in a smooth motion, brows squinting to get a better look at whatever it was she was seeing. "Green, a whole lotta green...oh gods that thing's massive...!"

"Get back in here this instant!" Weiss was fully on the warpath now Blake had yanked the smirking blonde thrill-seeker back on board, her baby blues blazing and nose turned up. "You...you dolt! You could've gotten yourself...!?"

"Aw, didn't mean to worry you Weissy, my bad." The blonde waved off the reprimand, nudging Blake off her playfully and completely missing her own partner's weary groan, "Just trying to lighten up the mood is all. Might start losing hairs with all this tension in the air, can't have that now can we?"

"Of all the...!?" Weiss gaped for a few moments, forming a few dozen indignant retorts before settling on exasperation. "Xiao Long, would it kill you to act seriously for once? Emergency or not this is still a mission!"

"Oh c'mon!? How am I supposed to take any of this seriously?" Yang looked about the cabin with a chuckle, though the smile it brought with it faltered abruptly once she found the Heiress doing just that. "Whole army's worth of people magically shows up in the middle of the Emerald Forest out of nowhere and just starts fighting each other...why? It's crazy, isn't it?"

To be fair it was a good question, though it wasn't like Ruby couldn't see the merit in the Schnee's words even if Yang only wanted to help. This _was_ a mission, and people were getting hurt after all which, this sounded exactly the time to get serious.

 _'Yang should still know better...'_

The teenager bit her lip and looked at her sister again, more closely this time. Noting for the first time the lines of stress tugging along her brow and jawline, the jumpy off tempo beat her boot tapped into the deck, the flicker of challenge as she sized up her teammate like she might a Grimm. She was on edge, nervous, excited, eager...

"Of course they didn't just appear out of nowhere! Don't be silly!"

"Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking, even if one else will. Right, Blake?"

"Hmm?" The Faunus perked up, too wrapped up in trying to listen over the roar of the engines. Like her partner, she was doing her best to figure out was was going on as well, if being more subtle about it. "Uh...yeah, sure. Whatever."

"There, see?" Yang crossed her arms and puffed out her chest proudly, that grin of hers back in full force. "Villication, ahh tastes so sweet."

"You mean ' _Vindication_ ', and that doesn't prove...!"

Thankfully two swiftly devolved into their usual back and forth before things got too headed, the Heiress nagging and the Blonde joking while the Ninja was reluctantly caught in the middle...the familiar pattern was their way of venting. Both were frustrated by the lack of any concrete information, and what they did have...well...

Dimly, Ruby realized she'd opened her scroll to one of the few pict images of any real detail. A full body profile of a humanoid figure encased head to toe in bulky black armor just like the knights of old from Atlesian fairytales, the kind Yang had read to her before bed as a kid.

Stories of brave heroes from before the days of Huntsmen and Huntresses, riding out on horseback to face the terrible monster, saving the damsel in distress with sword in hand.

Her big sister had edited bits here and there as Ruby grew older, of course. Arming the noble warriors with firearms and other fantastical weapons, adding bits and pieces to their descriptions like red cloaks and wide silver eyes. Setting them on quests to raid the cookie hoards of a rather grumpy sun dragon...silly things that had made her laugh.

Now the fairy tale had come to frightening life, wearing the colors of a Grimm and standing large enough to equal the Ursa it seemed very _very_ intent on hacking to tiny pieces with the cruel looking halberd it carried in the pict.

A weapon that must easily have been the size of a full grown man at the very least. Wreathed by strange distorting light and swaying charms, topped off by a wickedly curved blade edged along its length with serrated teeth. One the arms enthusiast couldn't help but admire for the sheer workmanship obvious even through the low resolution.

Brutal simple effectiveness intended throughout the whole of the design, devoted to a single purpose. A thing meant to tear apart whoever or whatever got in the way of the one wielding it. That much and more blatantly obvious just from a single glance.

Those were the sorts of details Ruby understood quite well. Weapons, and exactly what they were capable of.

She didn't want to fight this one, much less the person holding it, and the very thought that she or her team might have to do just that was leaving her stomach in twisted knots that had nothing to do with the Bullhead's jinking maneuvers.

 _'What if we can't handle this? What if I screw things up and make things worse? What if I...NO, stop that!'_

The young Huntress shook her head fiercely to combat the nervous tension threatening to overtake her, finding it difficult even so. Ruby was supposed to be a Huntress, a leader expected to...well, _lead_. The others couldn't afford for her to be doubting herself, yet the more she looked at the mercifully indistinct silhouettes of people being attacked by Grimm, the more she her thoughts drifted back to the events weeks before.

Team RWBY's first mission to the fallen settlement of Mountain Glenn, Ruby's first real life mission as a leader, was supposed to have been their chance to uncover and hopefully put an end to the dastardly schemes of the criminal Roman Torchwick and the Faunus extremists of the White Fang. Their chance to prove they were heroes, not just kids playing at the name.

Instead she'd gone and gotten herself captured, taken hostage by the very people they were supposed to stop, forcing her friends to risk their lives to save her. And in the end it still hadn't mattered, the White Fang still managing to send a train full of Dust careening headlong into the barriers protecting Vale from the Grimm stalking its borders.

The Breach, that terrible day when the monsters in the dark had gotten inside the walls of the Kingdom, drawn by the panic of the innocent people inside. People she was supposed to help and protect.

Who knew what might've occurred, how things might've turned out, if Atlas' forces hadn't been there to put a stop to the chaos before it could spread?

Still, it didn't matter that Torchwick had been captured, the White Fang's plans disrupted, she'd messed up.

 _'Not this time...'_ Ruby told herself, stowing the scroll and reaching to check _Crescent Rose_ yet again. The tremors in her hand stilling as soon as they made contact with the crimson chassis, silver eyes drifting to the wafting plumes of smoke rising in the far distance. _'Not again...'_

* * *

"...not ever! Trees... _gah_! Of course it just had to be... _urgh..._ Fraggin' trees...!?"

The adolescent Trooper cursed bitterly, clambering swiftly over the ash blackened track housing of a still smoldering Leman Russ Battle Tank in a running crouch before dropping into cover behind the thicker frontal hull plating mounted on the other side.

A battered long-las clutched vertically in steady hands tight across his chest as he waited, counting down in short controlled breaths that tasted of fyceline and sour copper, waiting...but not for long.

- _"Hold there, the Predator comes...it stalks, scenting panic and confusion...finding in abundance..."-_

"Three Golden Thrones...Two Golden Thrones...Alright, follow along." He sighed leaning his sweating forehead against the pulsing warmth of modified barrel, voice hardly above a whisper as he traced a few of the aged notches along its length, marks made by another's hand. "C'mon now, Emperor damn you...?"

Heartbeats after settling himself, the derelict shuddered violently under the oppressive weight of the stubby biped that had been pursuing the Trooper with a particularly single minded intent. Carefully yet deliberately lumbering forward on two clawed appendages that scraped and gouged at the plasteel underfoot in a painful chorus that stung the ears.

The predator scented and lapped at the air, a deep rumbling echoing in its throat as a stubby eyeless head, all slavering maw and crimson markings, leered down at the now grinning Guardsman.

Or more accurately, it stared down the long glowing barrel of Lux's weapon. Never a good place to be by any margin, especially not with the power output cranked as close to maximum settings as was possible. Suffice it to say, far beyond the recommended limits espoused by the tech priests, but seeing as most of the cog boys had never even stepped foot on a battlefield let alone stared down a xenos beast as ugly as this one, the Guardsman felt a few liberties were in order..

-" _Act! Act now!..."-_

" _Ha ha!_ Eat las, Frakker!"

A declaration chorused by the satisfying sizzle of weapon's discharge, the blinding crimson lance of directed coherent energy neatly piercing the fleshy meat at the back of the Xenos snarling gullet at extreme close range. Vaporizing soft tissues in an instant before drilling outward up towards the thick bone plate atop its skull before detonating in a gout of charred smoking viscera and escaping thermal pressure steaming through cracks in its chipped surface.

And that had just been the first shot alone, a trio of follow up bursts on full-auto spread saw the alien slumping off the side of the venerable tank minus most of it's swollen head. What was left of its limp body already dissolving to nothingness before it had the chance to even hit the ground.

Excellent shots, tight and controlled like the drill masters instructed minus the bit of flair. Something to be proud of even if it did have him ejecting the overheated charge pack, wincing at scalded fingertips.

 _-"You must flee, many eyes take notice...the shadows must feast, the prey numerous...Run...!"-_

 _'Have to keep moving! Have to find...huh?...'_ Lux stumbled before smacking a palm against throbbing temples, trying in vain to clear his fogging head and figure out exactly what in the Emperor's name he was doing here in the open?

Last he remembered he'd been tripping in the Commissar's shadow intent on sticking close and keeping his head in the proper place, but now...!?

Unfortunately that odd question would have to wait, a stirring in the foliage directly across from Lux's position sent him scarpering off again without a second thought.

He'd seen all manner of nightmares jump out from the forests of this glorified Death World in the last few minutes, along with plenty of what they could do to even well armed Guardsmen. One only had to see the evidence littered across the ground in savaged clumps of meat, and in the wet life blood coating the modified lasgun he'd scavenged.

An ill portent in the eyes of the Machine God, if Lux bothered with the Cogboy's nattering beyond a few rites here and there to keep his kit's wilier machine spirits content. An issue given his propensity towards misplacing certain pieces here and there, his helmet for example.

This lovely piece's previous owner, a foul mouthed Mordian marksman in his elaborately pressed uniform, had run afoul of one of the Ursine monsters as he and the Cadian had sought succor amidst the thicker greenery. Separated from the bulk of their respective allies during the earlier conflict with the Cultists, cast adrift by the sudden onrush of these... _things_.

Tall and broad across as a Space Marine, the monster had ripped the man apart just as easily. Fiery crimson eyes leering from the shadows their only warning before wet warmth had splashed across the thick brambles in a fitful torren, the back swing of a claw almost taking the panicked Cadian's head off too as he'd rolled to snatch up his fellow's fallen weapon.

Not like the Mordian would be needing it much anymore, and Lux had done him the service putting a las bolt through the blighter's eye socket as he'd retreated with all haste towards the next defensible option. But never fast enough it seemed.

Not in these woods...accursed trees...

Lux Brindle, Guardsman of the storied 8th Cadian Shock Troopers Regiment, had always loathed fighting in the wilderness with a Throne-damned passion.

An opinion no doubt earned during those early pain fueled weeks as a fresh Whiteshield serving in the Youth Army, where things like ' _Trees_ ' had still been a fresh concept for the adolescent Kasr-Rat. Understood as little more than fascinating towers of lush greens, soft browns, and even the rare splash of bright natural color.

A definite step up from that dreary artificial feel of the hab-blocks and Guard checkpoints he'd grown up staring at from the shadows cast by processing sumps and waste depots.

Fresh air under the vibrant glow of an open sky, the best frakking thing he'd ever breathed in a short violent life. A sight to thaw even a heart jaded by gang life and the constant daily struggle to stay alive and ahead of trouble...

Of course, Lux's Drill Masters had seen that childish wonderment shimmering in their pupil's wide violet gaze, and had promptly taken a boot to the back of its naive noggin at the most convenient opportunity with a passion frankly bordering upon the sadistic.

Succinctly executing what little remained after hypno-indoctrination for good measure through a steady regimen of 'War Games', forced marches spent slogging under fire, and all manner of tried and proven methods to abuse the next generation of their Home world's elite warrior stock. Just as they themselves had doubtless been before them in Cadia's meat grinder.

Natural splendor and thoughtless beauty bleached down to those bare concerns of survival and victory.

' _Trees_ ' meant little more than piss poor visibility over distance, an abundance of available cover for any combatants packing half a wit between them to take shelter behind. Not to mention a haven more often than not full to bursting with things that found anything sporting a standard Guard-issue uniform rather appetizing.

So as one might imagine, the idea of suddenly being uprooted from an exceedingly dangerous, if somewhat familiar, battlefield and deposited, rather unceremoniously too he might add, deep within the confines of a veritable expanse of lush forest most certainly the former and not at all the latter wasn't exactly his idea of amenable circumstances.

Quite the frakking contrary in fact, given the host of well armed Cultists, Traitors, and the of course the assorted Mutant still abundantly present. Even if they seemed just as dazed and dumbstruck as the scattered Astra Militarum contingent situated morally _and_ literally across from them.

Wide-eyed men and women numbering in the hundreds if not more, the leftovers of various squads sporting the colors and equipmnt of more than half a dozen various regiments from as many differing worlds at Lux's last rough count.

The drab utilitarian flak armor of the Cadian Shock Troopers showed strongly, yet so did the insulated greatcoat and helmet flap of the Valhallan Ice Warriors standing alongside the equally out of place pith helms and refined epaulets employed by the Praetorian Guard. The Trooper thought he'd even imagined a few scattered musclebound frames and distinctive red bandannas indicative to the Catachan Jungle Fighters among so many others.

All forces famed throughout the Imperium of Man for one reason or another. All having been present at least in token numbers across the surface of the besieged Fortress world.

 _'And all plucked up by that mad gale, it seems...'_

Most had been spread through the wooded area where they had fallen like driftwood, some even caught atop the wrecks of derelict vehicles...with more than a few caught _inside_ them a bit too literally.

Those unfortunate sods on both sides of the line bonded grotesquely to the steel and cabling of the machines they'd once commanded and had now become more than just a part of, or otherwise squelched down the sides in messy barely recognizable displays of human or near-human anatomy.

Still regardless of the grisly additions, not all were completely inoperable, even if most of the struggling loyalist and traitor Tank crews could only seem to swivel the turrets or gun housings about in their astonished confusion over the new environment. Auto-cannon feeds still flowed smoothly, las cannon power cells continued to hum with deadly potential...not all, but enough.

And in fact it proved something quite crucial. The weapons still functioned.

Things had simply taken their natural course after that...

Questions like who had shot first? Did it even matter? The Trooper imagined it didn't much, as it so rarely did in his life.

Be it one of the gang wars perpetually raging in the Underhives beneath the Kasrs or the battles taking place outside their walls. What did, and often the only thing that was worth focusing on in the Imperial war effort, was keeping his handsome head firmly attached to his shoulders where it belonged and free of sudden violent ventilation.

Next was identifying the most suitable target right before putting a las-bolt through it in a way that put them down for good.

Easy enough, problem was there were so many blasted targets to choose from.

Snarling black skinned bodies in abundance, writhing about wherever Lux turned with more appearing by the moment like sump rats for ration call with all the fervor of a Guardsman on leave with scrip to spend.

The whole lot of them milling in a sea of flesh and sharpened teeth, leaping and tearing through one another in their attempts to drag down whatever prey they could or otherwise working in concert to overwhelm the two struggling forces.

Already the traitor host, fragmented as they were by virtue of what they were, had all but vanished under the viscous tide. What survivors there were being herded slowly but surely into the darker copses devoid of sunlight, where no doubt more of the xenos waited to gobble them up.

Not that Lux minded much, if only for the lack of warm preferably corrupt bodies between himself and the native fauna.

Adopting much the same tactics as they might employ against the forces of the Great Devourer, the loyalist forces were faring marginally better. Many of the survivors grouping together to form defensible perimeters made up of half a dozen differing squads and regiments all struggling to buy another second more with each shot.

With what heavy weapons and operational vehicles further devoted to the task of targeting the larger forms, or otherwise acting as rallying points for those souls cut off. Staggered lines of overlapping fire keeping the bulk of the monsters at bay and at a distance for some breathing room, denying their advantage of numbers if only just.

Put simply, a dozen swiftly diminishing islands adrift in an otherwise seething ocean of malice throwing bolts and las with utter abandon. Some standing out more than others.

 _'..."Move forward", first rule of the Imperial Guard...Second is just as simple if difficult, "Survive". A dead Trooper is useless both to his Commanders and to the Emperor.'_

Alone he might last for a time but in the end he would die, just like the Mordian in unfamiliar territory. He had to find some sanctuary amidst the madness, link up with a cohesive force of resistance.

The Knight Titan was obvious, its tread alone shaking the ground underfoot and its weapons decimating whole scores of the smaller creatures.

Quite likely it was the only thing keeping the Loyalists in the fight at all, distracting the majority of the larger xenos bio-titans that might otherwise have overwhelmed the struggling ground forces. Unfortunately from the looks of things, the Pilot at the helm of the god machine wasn't exactly picking out her targets with care or precision.

The landscape about the Knight's feet more resembled a scene out of some ancient Terran Hell, not a place to hunker down. But if he could work himself closer to the leg stanchions, avoiding the bulk of the encroaching xeno-forms as he went, perhaps seek some shelter in the wake of the viridescent giant's advance...?

 _-"No, such peril...The Scion deigns not to notice those beneath her tread, seeing only the foe..."-_

 _'Risky, don't much fancy getting stepped on by some dainty faced Prig playing overhead...'_ He blinked away a sudden rush of nausea and massaged his aching temple, the thought so obvious he wondered why he hadn't expressed it from the start.

Then there was the Sororitas the Commissar had saved with his aid, or mayhaps the reverse if the Trooper was being honest though he suspected neither of them would ever dare to admit it for much the same reasons.

Of course, prideful or not, the Militant Nun was quite a sight to stir the blood, barefaced with youthful dusky features highlighted by a shock of dyed white hair and perhaps the purest bluest eyes Lux had ever seen.

Eyes alight with righteous zeal while smiting, burning, and hacking down what aliens she could with anything and everything she could lay her hands on be it lasgun, heavy bolter, and in one case stabbing the mangled remains of a Sergeant's chainsword into the soft tissue of a beast not dissimilar from that the Trooper himself had beheaded. Singing her hatred for the foe all the while in between prayers to the glories of Him on Holy Terra.

Given the state the Sister of Battle been in last he'd seen her, that she was standing, let alone fighting at all, was nothing short of a thrice-damned blessing.

That she had somehow come upon the aid of a Space Marine, a true vision of the Emperor's Angels of Death and not some warpspawn monster as the wychkin Sorcerer had been...well, such had gone beyond blessing and into the realms of divine intervention itself.

Watching the pair work was nothing short of inspiring, as much of what he could make of it at any rate. Both moved with purpose though the differences and end result were obvious, the Sister exterminating her foes with only the disciplined force required before moving onto the next, enthusiastic as she was in the doing.

Of the black armored Astartes, the only and most accurate term that could be said of his actions was 'butchery'.

Lux had seen the transhuman warriors kill before, if at a distance during the early days of the siege, but never quite like this.

Moving at a speed completely at odds with the weight of his thick ceramite plate, the Space Marine quite literally tore apart every foe that dared to draw his ire. Limbs flew wide with every swing of the savage looking chainglaive he bore with contemptuous ease, tungsten teeth spitting thick gobbets of dark smoking matter freely in all directions with a glutton's impunity. The noise emanating from his vox-grille far less comforting than even that, an eclectic mix of hissing snarls, roaring grunts, and cackling laughter.

Of those he allowed close within the fell weapon's range, and there was little doubt in Lux's mind that they _had_ been allowed, they faced a far slower, far more brutal fate than that of their fellows.

To hear stories of the might exhibited by the Angels of Death, the Emperor's Chosen, was one thing. To witness firsthand a power armored warrior shove a gauntlet-clad fist into the meat of an opponent's neck and choke the life from them piecemeal while relishing the deaths of its allies, that was quite another.

Perhaps...? His search, the search he didn't know he was following...

 _-"Such darkness in a beast's heart, such rage...beating alongside the righteous light of another..."-_

Lux's senses exploded into pain and sudden light at the rapport of a Leman Russ' battle cannon nearby, followed swiftly by knifing pain as a juggernaut of hastily assembled tree trunks and stone detonated into a hailstorm of fragments that slashed at his exposed flesh as the Trooper dived clear of the wreckage crashing down around him, shielding his head best he could.

 _'Damned helmet, of all the things to lose this time...!?'_

The cuts hurt, the ache in his skull was worse though strangely it wasn't the ringing in his ears that troubled him...not entirely.

Gritting back a slew of curses and spitting bloody phlegm, he worked himself upright and found the quick path he'd mapped to the pair's position blocked by a combination of detritus and more snarling monster's springing up out of the woodwork. Always more...

 _'What Saint did I piss off today?'_ He shook his head in vexed irritation, checking the delicate emitter lens on the long-las and was happy to see at least that hadn't failed him. _'If those two won't work...!?'_

Finding who he sought didn't prove a difficult task, far from it. The concept of hiding seemed anathema for most in such a vocation, a duty where one was meant to be seen.

 _'Huh, figures she'd be great at that as well...'_

Lux bit back a toothy smirk of triumph at the sight of Catelin, who stood atop the hull of a Salamander in a scene drawn right out of the pamphlets the Munitorum lackwits enjoyed throwing about. The valiant hero of the Commissariat leveling her bolt pistol at the endless horde from the most obvious and dynamic of vantage points, gesturing fervently with her sword in wide sweeping arcs to inspire and direct those beside her. A servo skull bobbing next to her head, spewing her words from it's speakers.

Barking out general orders and broad encouragements in that clipped cadence to all in earshot between the percussive bangs of her sidearm. Each bolt shell perfectly placed to take the head or primary killing implement from one of the larger or dominant Xenos, though Lux couldn't help but notice each shot occurring with less and less regularity and more and more cursing.

The telltale signs of dwindling ammunition reserves, and she wasn't alone in their display...

Even as he watched, Lux could see the cracks in the defense beginning to show in a dozen more subtle ways. Flagging bodies would eventually take their toll despite unwavering resolve, men and women already pushed to the breaking point by the forces of the Archenemy and now this new world couldn't be expected to last forever.

These Xenos, like the Tyranids, were cunning hunters and it wasn't as though they were lacking in numbers. Each creature felled only revealing half a dozen more in their place.

A fact the ragtag forces of the Astra Militarum couldn't claim, every body torn apart or dragged beneath the waves another gaping hole in a patchwork defense.

But they were holding even so as was expected of them, more than a few taking heart from the presence of a massive scar faced Ogryn clad in patchwork armor of carapace and old tank treads, laying about with crackling power maul and a slab shield of corrugated iron.

"Squish squish baddies!" The abhuman bellowed, powerful vocal cords easily overwhelming the background noise, for all things sounding like he was having a right old time. "For da' Empra!"

"Yes, indeed! Follow the Bullgryn's example! Bring the Emperor's wrath to the foe! _IN HIS NAME!"_ Catelin raised the call and every soul answered in chorus, even Lux.

 _-"Your Lead is desperate, seeking aid she does not expect will matter. Hoping for a miracle, or to spend herself and those around dearly in pursuit of one..."-_

' _Hmm, not liking the Commissar's chances. If only Stahl would just stop playing around and provide some frigging support...!?'_

Why was he running about like this, hesitating to act like some coward? That wasn't like him at all, he'd been trained for this and far _far_ worse, even considered for Kasrkin for Thrones' sake! He should be there fighting back to back with his comrades, his brothers and sisters in arms if not blood...

Moreover that name, ' _Stahl_ '!? How in the depths of the corespawned Warp did he know the name of the noble Prig piloting that frakking Knight!? No, there was more than that, even. More than just her name...

Lux was a Trooper, a survivor, but a Cadian above all.

He wouldn't leap headfirst into the monster's jaws perhaps, but neither would he let himself be taken without staring the frakker responsible in the eye. That was a lesson he'd learned early too in a time before the Guard, before the hypno-indoctrination and stimms the white coats had used to re-socialize the near feral ganger and produce a worthy young soldier in his stead...

Ready to serve, ready to fight and die in the service of the Throne...

 _-"Drifting back...Focus now, focus...you must avoid the eyes of the Shadow's hunger...You must...!?..."-_

He must...what? What must he do? This panic, a feeling not his own...a separate thing, a separate mind...

Blinking away a fog he'd not even been aware was truly there, the Guardsman turned without really thinking of what he was doing when it fact it was perhaps his first independent act since stepping foot on this blighted world.

Vivid violet meeting the wide glazed hazel orbs of a pale faced young woman, a slip of a girl really or so she seemed all sharp angles under dirtied robes far too large for her, staring right back at him from the shelter of a copse of trees several meters distant. Quivering doll-like hands so delicate they looked as though the slightest pressure might snap them clutched tight about the ochre handle of a staff taller than she was tipped by an aquila of softly glowing metal.

The line Trooper knew those eyes intimately, just as he knew the bedraggled auburn curls that hung about to her shoulders and the still fresh traceries of scar tissue and augmetic nodes concealed beneath.

Her fears and terrors, how she saw the bloodied Guardsman who had saved her life, barely older than she herself was but yet so different, standing blankly weapon in hand against a backdrop of carnage she couldn't bear to tear her gaze from lest the whisper damn her for her cowardice. His face a mask...his mind so curiously directed, barricaded in places, flowing through channels away from the whole of the river...

And it was exactly _HOW_ he knew all of this that had the butte of his long-las tight against his shoulder and warming with barely contained charge, trembling only a moment before ingrained training took firm hold once more.

One of the Company's 'Freaks', a 'Braincase', a Psyker...and she'd touched his mind, had worn him like some spare shirt. Something tugged at him with the revelation, something subtle yet slipping with sudden panic...good, she was scared.

- _"Focus! Calm! The Shadows see you, Son of the Subworks...They feel you...!?"-_

 _"_ Get...Get out!" His finger feathered the trigger, again feeling that blasted hesitation take hold of him once more. Her doing no doubt...Nell's doing, her name echoing unbidden at the corners of his mind. " _Rrgh!?_ Get out my head, _Witch_!" His body stiffened and eased with a single breath as he pulled the trigger, his mind viewing the action independent of his own body through her eyes.

Strangely enough, Nell hadn't imagined for an instant that he'd actually shoot, Lux knew that too without comprehending how. Her senses both physical and psychic reeling as she felt the las bolt lance pass by her cheek, the distance between the two so fine that she could feel her hair smolder and her cheek blister.

He'd missed, or so she thought before a dark avian shape all jagged beak and glistening talons hit the ground beside her and tumbled broken at her feet in a shower of midnight feathers. The sudden appearance startling the girl back onto her rump to scramble away, staff before her as if that might ward it away...she needn't have bothered.

Still alive if barely, the bird-thing squawked feebly, flapping the seared stump where one of it's limbs had been shot away by high intensity thermal energy. Another flash of red was enough to finish it off, Lux advancing swiftly to kick at the fading carcass before turning his attentions back towards the Psyker. Noticeably the weapon didn't dip, nor did it fall silent.

- _"You didn't...Why did you not...?"-_

The Trooper didn't bother with words, didn't strike at Nell or move to hurt her, merely gripping his smoking Long-Las all the tighter and tapping a finger to his brow. The meaning of the gesture unmistakable, even without the emotional connotations and threat coating the motion like hoarfrost.

Still, she could not remain silent, not now...not when others could sense those feelings as well.

"L-Look out!" Her voice was hoarse and broken from disuse, Low Gothic foreign on her tongue despite having learned directly it from the minds of those who had taken her. But still she tried, struggling to make herself heard. "They...They come...!?"

Lux realized her meaning a moment too late, spinning on his heels only to be knocked off his feet by the back swing of an enormous paw. The force of the impact abated by reflex though still easily enough to snap the Trooper's flak armor down the middle and send him flying bodily back into the Psyker's feeble attempt to catch him, bearing both to the ground in a mound of ablative plate and coarse robes.

Stunned with weapon lost in the surrounding brush, the stunned frame of the Psyker barely stirring beneath him, it was most all Lux could do to fumble for the combat knife strapped to his chest while their attacker lumbered forward in utter disregard for the logs and cutting brambles lying about. A mammoth monstrosity covered in thick clumps of matted black fur and faded bone plate, complete with ravenous teeth-filled smirk splitting hideous features which only made the steaming ruin of its eye that much more noticeable.

And much more memorable...

"Ah hell, it's you ain't it?" Lux tugged the blade free from it's scabbard with a halting jerk that made his chest ache, though all the while he kept his smile bared for the Mordian's killer to see. "Thought I'd gotten ya, tough Bastard. Lookin' for me!?" He fought his way into a low crouch while the Xenos brayed, running a finger along the serrated steel edge then reversing his grip on the knife in a practiced motion, settling into the familiar gutter killer's stance so common in the Underhives without even realizing it. "C'mere then! Let's make us a smile to match that eye!?"

A decent boast, and made for not all together terrible last words. Lux had heard stories of Catcachan Jungle Fighters and their hell of a homeworld, days fighting beasts twice this size with far less than a simple blade to hand. And the Sororitas had handled herself well enough from his reckoning.

Thing is, Lux was no heap of over-muscled death world sinew, nor a zealous nun strengthened by faith and power armor. He was a simple Trooper, if a skilled one or his few years in his not so humble opinion.

And he was going to die, along with the _witch-kin_ waif behind him, the latter disturbing him far more than he cared to admit. Lux Brindle, proud Trooper of Cadia, slayer of Traitor Sorcerers and the like was going to fall on an unknown world to a waste of xenos flesh that should've had the decency to die when he'd shot it.

Least he could do was make sure he met his end with his knife down the ugly frakker's throat...Throne willing that would be enough...

 _'Emperor, if you can hear me...if you're there, I mean...'_ Lux really wasn't one for prayer or solemnity, but he liked to imagine that with an entire Imperium's worth of prayers beseeching aid the Master of Mankind could bear with a bit of indelicacy... _'I could really use a blessing right now, anything you've got. If not...well, see you soon to complain in person.'_

He made to lunge forward, maybe catch the big lug off guard and get a half decent stab in, but was stopped by slender fingers that held back his arm with a stolidity he would've otherwise believed impossible. Glancing over his shoulder with an irritated snarl, he was shocked to see Nell's unfocused gaze staring upwards, mumbling silently under her breath with words he could hear echoing at the edges of his conscious awareness, growing louder by the second.

From the startled cries of alarm and fear emanating throughout the makeshift battlefield, everyone else could hear them as well. Even the Imperial Knight, lumbering in all it's destructive majesty, fell silent and lulled into an uncertain stance of vague readiness with chainsword raised. It's cannon arm gone silent and limp...

 _-"...Salvation comes on wings of steel, at the hands of those birthed of steel...By steel's edge we shall see another dawn...Red Rose...White Snow...Black Shadow...Yellow Dragon...Red Rose...White Snow...!"-_

Lux cried out, the interior of his skull aching with the volume of the words repeating themselves again and again, warmth trickling down his ears and from both nostrils. The little Braincase herself was of no help either, having devolved into some kind of fit, eyes rolled back and body juddering even as the Trooper reacted.

Whether or not to try and support her, or to jolt back praying for protection against such obvious corruption he still wasn't sure.

At least the threat of the xenos was put on hold for a time, its focus helpfully drawn to the throaty roar of engine exhaust and disturbed branches as a half dozen curious aircraft of unknown make or pattern screamed down from above on wings of silver and white. Many of the smaller vessels never ceased in their attack runs, flying by to strafe the xenos lines with sprays of small arms fire and turret mounted assault weapons that cut down smaller bioforms like wheat before the scythe.

Other larger vessels took advantage of the newly cleared landing zone to descend, hovering supported by the downward thrust of powerful turbines mounted along the wings. Wide cargo doors placed along the sides sliding wide on automatic pistons to reveal holds filled to bursting with combatants sporting gleaming armor and brightly colored fatigues of red and blue, supported in large by similarly well armed soldiers encased head to toe in white plate.

 _'No, those ain't soldiers...'_

Lux balked at the sight of the strange newcomers lurching awkwardly from their confinement, some landing more gracefully than others but all rising and moving with the same eerie mechanical grace impossible for organics to embody as they gunned down more of the beasts to make room for the humans in their midst. Not servitors but...

 _'Battle robots, the Tech Priests are here?'_

It made sense for the red looking soldiers, but in these numbers...this didn't seem a Forge World of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Far too much green...

Thankfully Lux was spared his musings by the arrival of another craft directly over his and the unconscious Psyker's position, the figure within not even bothering to wait for her transport to lose altitude before throwing herself free from the interior. Laughing manically as she twisted and cartwheeled through the air, falling headfirst towards the hapless beast and its thoroughly startled prey.

A woman, perhaps the strangest woman Lux had ever seen but a woman nonetheless, dressed in a striking ensemble of mixed leathers and bright colors made perhaps all the more striking by how little there was of it to be seen.

Not that the Trooper was complaining of course, the whole effect combined with a youthful smile that glowed like the sun and hair the color of spun gold was enough to put any slum doll or highborn doxie to blushing shame.

Pity he was going to have to watch an angel like this dash herself against the forest floor in some mad gambit, devoured wholesale.

Now imagine the depths of his surprise as shining golden metal seemed to extend outward along the mad beauty's forearms. Riveted gauntlets spewing bursts of explosive energy that not only arrested her fall but drove her leading fist headlong into the top of the creature's skull with such monumental momentum that the Mordian's killer simply appeared to fold in upon itself as the ground underneath shattered.

Ears ringing sharp with the thunder of a close range artillery strike, Lux stared in open mouthed awe at the beauty stepping casually as she pleased from the smoking crater that constituted the remains of where the xenos aberration had stood, completely unharmed. Protected no doubt by some form of shield tech, but as to where she'd hide such a thing...

Blowing gently on the steaming gun barrel protruding from her gauntlet, she swept her wild mane over her shoulder and arched her back with a relieved sigh, using the motion to catch a momentary glimpse of the Cadian staring at her unashamedly. How could he not?

Stories would've had her providing some reassurance or aid to the wounded soldier, like the Valkyr of old Terran myth he'd heard tales of in the barracks. Maybe an inspiring comment or benediction to fire his blood and bolster his spirit for the fight ahead...

Instead she merely shot the young man with an admiringly curious gaze and a playful wink from beneath tinted glare-lenses. Other strangely dressed figures fell from the heavens alongside her, clutching weapons tight in hand and slaying creatures where they stood though Lux found he couldn't quite look away, exhaustion taking hold at last.

A flicker of Black swinging from the trees by a thin ribbon, cutting bestial throats in miraculous athletic displays achieved with utter ease. A shimmer of White with the look of a highborn Hiver about her wove destruction upon all in her path with a weapon that spewed forth flame and other primal energies. A streak of crimson trailing what smelt almost like rose petals on the wind, propelled by some strange cracking energy and hurtling at such speeds that in many cases the Daemon-Xenos took several seconds to realize they were slain, ended by the wicked scythe trailing in her wake that looked like it should've been wielded by an Astartes rather than a child like her.

And last but certainly not least, the young woman warrior sporting Yellow in the center of it all almost appeared to burn in the sunlight, radiating a golden kind of Aura about her.

 _'Huh, Flyin' fiery Joy-Girl falling from on high...'_

He tried to stand yet found his body disobeying his commands, shaking legs unable to support the Trooper as he fell back beside the Psyker.

His last sight that of his Savior venting a whole straight through the torso of another of the ursine beasts before using her gauntlets strange properties to propel herself up and away over the heads of man and monster alike, whooping joyfully as she went.

A Huntress seeking out the harshest fighting without a care for the danger...confidence burning off her like a miniature star...

'... _Golden_ _Throne of Terra, now this is the sort of blessing I can get behind!...'_

* * *

 **-END**

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 **A/N:** **Took longer than I'd hoped but the plot is finally ready to hopefully start moving forward as Imperial forces become steadily more involved. Fair warning Canon for RWBY is likely to shift quite a bit, Space Marines and all that you understand.**

 **Anyway, thank you for all for supporting the story and always feel free to leave a review or comment, and questions are fun, all goes to making the fic better For example, next chapter we get a glimpse at a certain culling people have been asking for, blood in the water and all.**

 **Hope to be posting again soon - Mojo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sworn To Remnant**

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 **-CHAPTER 8 - Blood In The Cage-**

* * *

 _ **"Show me a fortress and I'll show you a ruin."**_

\- Captain Eddan Bourne, Silver Skulls 2nd Assault Company

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 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Menagerie - Akai Hana Border Settlement - Five Days Post Cataclysm)**

"Stop staring, you'll get us both in trouble!"

Asagi frowned, tearing her wide-eyed gaze away from the mottled skyline with no small amount of difficulty to glare at her younger brother, Ao, with stern faced annoyance from underneath straw-blonde tresses.

The boy cowering back in the face of his sibling's obvious irritation, losing heart, unable to meet the slit pupil stare and instead focusing on the smattering of sky blue scales adorning her cheeks that she so often tried to hide with her hair since coming into adolescence.

A mistake it turned out, the slip only serving to stoke the snake Faunus' simmering temper.

Strange how she couldn't remember feeling this angry earlier when she'd snuck out into the fields early get the best vantage point a top one of the nearby hillocks barren but for a gnarled palm swaying in the morning due.

Carefully trekking past her Father's closed door. Relieved to hear heavy snoring as she laced up her sandals, threw on a thick jacket and set out, hand hesitating before snatching up the thick bladed knife the man had bought for her the year before and belting it at her waist.

She'd never liked it, but that morning the extra weight had proven reassuring, even if it did feel heavier as of late.

Angry...If anything she should've felt terrified, if not by the verbal hiding she was gonna receive if her Dad discovered her little adventure than at the chance a Grimm might've slipped passed the watchmen.

No one wanted to stay out late anymore from what she'd heard, let alone wander alone at night in the dark with only the lights in the sky to illuminate their way.

If they had...well, she'd seen Sand Shrikes before. Birdlike monster's the size of small dogs that whipped down from out of nowhere to snatch up prey in their jagged beaks, just like they'd snatched Momma so long ago...!?

Asagi had let out an involuntary hiss before shaking her head fiercely, muttering a quick rebuke aimed at no one as she fought to keep her breathing under control and still the tremors, glad to see her mistake hadn't given her plan away.

Or so she'd thought at the time.

She hadn't dwelt on that memory in years...

This...This was foolish, but she found she couldn't help herself. The temptation getting the best of her, as were the nightmares keeping her up every night since...since the Storm.

The _'Cataclysm',_ that was what people had taken to calling the strange weather pattern that had wracked the whole of the region reportedly driving every Grimm for miles about into a frenzy, though no one seemed able to place where the name had originated or who had said it first. Appearing out of nowhere only to vanish just as suddenly, leaving naught but ravaged villages in it's wake, destruction and a stain across the sky that blotted out much of the moon above and tinted the sunlight a ruddy vibrant hue.

Akai Hana might've suffered a similar fate if not for the intervention of the Masks...their soldiers mobilizing to cull the numbers before they'd even come close to the borders of the settlement. Demanding hefty recompense in food and other supplies as they always did, 'payment for protection' they called it.

'Masks', how stupid...as though anyone could confuse the Grimm facade and weapons they carried even if they weren't supposed to, or the scary stronghold they'd constructed over the hillside along the edges of the borderlands for anything less than they were. The boom of explosions set off and the gunfire from the drills they ran, or the bullheads screaming overhead going from place to place without anyone important back in Kuo Kuana being any the wiser.

Still, most were just content that they provided a service now and again and generally kept to themselves aside from the occasional recruiter and armed patrol. Patrols that had been stepping up steadily in number and brutality since folks realized the stain marring the sky wasn't going away.

Even so, it didn't stop some people from indulging their curiosity.

Midori, the neighbor's eldest, had sworn cross her heart days before that one could make out shapes and faces in the roiling web of riotous shades hanging along the horizon, if one stared long and hard enough that is. Giggling and bragging to the other girls how she'd seen what she claimed to be the most beautiful princeling staring longingly back at her from on high while she'd been out tending the crops, picture perfect from some children's fairy-tale.

The way she'd described it, the adoration present in her eyes as the dog eared Faunus had glanced up at the sky. The softest glimmer of hope at what she might see...not that Asagi was hoping to catch a glimpse of her own Prince Charming, oh no no no...her reasons far more directed if still somewhat petty..

Her Father had forbidden looking at the stain overlong, so of course she knew she had to try at least once, just to see what all the fuss was. Especially once the others had started sharing their own guilty stories, fantastical beasts, castles in the sky, things that left them all giggling and blushing...

Early morning was best according to the gossiping farm hand, so early morning it would have to be, not that the payoff had been all that rewarding.

No matter how hard she'd stared, Asagi just couldn't resolve the whorl of flowing pigment into any reasonable sense of shape or scale. Certainly not the visual portraits her friends seemed all too happy to relay, grouping together in their own little cliques to the exclusion of everything else including her.

To her perceptions the stain just looked...wrong, ugly, something that couldn't and simply _shouldn't_ be. Her attempts to prove otherwise and imagine such sights only sparking off a pained ache behind her eyeballs...

Maybe that was where the irritation stemmed from, her inability to see the beauty in something where there should be, the feeling of being different from her peers, or maybe the nagging sense that her Dad might've been right.

Then, there was also the embarrassment of being caught by the snoopy little trog, of course. That had smarted, as much as it had spooked her that she's been so out of it she hadn't even heard his approach. Snake or not, Ao was't exactly subtle, so clumsy he'd trip over his own two feet if there wasn't an abundance of anything else to do so first.

"What do you mean 'us both'?" Asagi spat back the question, maybe with a bit more venom than she'd meant it to be. Regretting it the instant she saw Ao flinch away, scratching at the scales that grew in small patches along his tanned arms and must've been freezing in the foggy air just like hers were. The dummy forgetting his own footwear and coat in his rush to chase after her no doubt.

She'd always been jealous of that, how easy his traits would've been to play off or hide but he'd never bothered or even thought to, while she on the other hand had never felt comfortable with her own marks which could never be considered 'pretty' even on a good day.

"Dad won't get angry at you, you're the favorite remember? He'll just think I dragged you along with me." She said, softer this time. Shaking her head and smoothing the grass stains out of the pleats of her skirt as she got to her feet. "What are you doing out here anyway? Don't you follow the rules?"

"I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you." The absolute wrong thing to say and Ao knew it by the way she glowered down at him. "You shouldn't be out here, not alone! We aren't supposed to! Everyone says!"

"Everyone also says we're just supposed to ignore the White Fang walking around, making trouble and swiping everything not bolted down because they can!"

"We're not supposed to call them that either, Asagi! If they hear you...!?"

That look of fear on one so young, it disgusted her to no end. Not that it was Ao's fault, he'd just been unlucky enough to see what happened to people that spoke out against the glorious cause of Faunus equality.

It was that look that had everyone scared, comfortable with hiding in their homes and hoping for the scary men an women to pass them by.

"They'll what!? Drag more of our people away? Tear down people's shops? Steal our food? They already do all that! And now I can't even look at the stupid sky!?"

The reptilian Faunus screwed up her face and forced herself to look back up at the morass, shocked to see a flicker of something almost like movement darting across the expanse as a cloud might've. A horned serpent coiling about itself, ready to strike with fangs bared for her heart...

And all of a sudden she was staggering back, Ao having shoved her hard in the midriff to set her off balance. His pudgy face screwed up with the effort of not crying. It was ridiculous, but somehow she couldn't help but feel the ridiculous little boy had saved her somehow, a cold chill working it's way down her spine.

Unfortunately that didn't curb the rising annoyance that made her want to hit him back...

"What did you do that for!?" She started forward, fists clenched and eyes blazing. This wasn't her anger, this wasn't her hunger denied...but even so...!

"Dad said not to look at it, it's the rules!" Her brother voiced, standing up straight though his curled blonde head barely peaked around her chest. "He said...hmm, he said something happens to the folks who do, something bad. I-I'm your brother, I'm supposed to...to protect you...a- _ah_!?"

All of a sudden he started stammering, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as he stumbled and fell back crawling about the ground while his sister moved forward, halfway between stark worried confusion and vindictive glee.

Why would he be so scared of her? Ao had to know that even at her angriest she would never hurt him, he was her brother.

She loved him as the only one that bothered to regularly look out for her interests in this podunk town on the edge of nowhere after Mom was taken and Dad stopped caring. Who came to sit with her after their Father had sent her running with one of his rants.

And simple as that the anger boiling within her vanished as if it had never been. The revelation that she'd had a hand on the hilt of her weapon making her feel as though she were going to be sick, the sour tang of acid burning at the back of her throat.

She had almost...she might've...

"Ao?" She started forward, holding out a trembling hand hesitantly towards her cowering brother. "Ao I-I didn't...I wouldn't...!?"

She hesitated, noting that in the time she had been warring within herself a broad shadow had appeared to engulf her entirely, blotting out the what trace sunlight pierced the fog gathered atop the hill.

A noise, like a swarm of insect wings buzzed softly on the wind echoed behind her as well, the groan of metallic joints settling into place...

"He isn't scared of you, child." A deep rumbling cadence like shifting stones arose from behind Asagi, the Faunus wheeling on her heels, expecting a White Fang Trooper or perhaps something worse. Hand darting back to the hilt of her belt knife only for the blade to tumble from numb fingertips rendered insensate by dread or something similar at the being looming over her. "Give him no cause to be."

Her first impression once sense returned was that of a knight like in the oldest stories of the Kingdoms, cast in layers upon layers of armor a shade of golden yellow that showed through even the filmy haze cast by the Cataclysm's sour light.

Unlike the spotless fairy tale examples she remembered her mother reading to her about, gracefully poised and dynamic, perfect in all regards, this individual was at once all of these things and yet none.

His armor battered, pitted, and scarred from battles that looked as if they would have taken the charming dandies of Midori's myths and eaten them alive. Fluttering with various scroll work affixed with hardened wax and jangling with small trinkets and charms. Coins, numerals, even a scrap of iron she might've used to shoe one of the horses.

Above it all a checkered sigil of pearl and onyx standing out in stark relief across his right shoulder plate, that of a bleeding ruby heart...

Rather than detract from his presence, the damage appeared to amplify it, displaying an endurance and unerring resolve that was perfectly reflected in the man's careworn features. And it was a man, human or at least she thought he was or had been.

Like many young people born and raised in the confines of Menagerie, Asagi could count the number of humans she'd seen on one hand. But even so, she dared not believe they could grow to such a size, the girl barely reaching his waist if she were being generous.

And this was when he was weighed down, hefting the bulk of a massive humming backpack shot through with cabling the breadth of her arm, all feeding into a weapon larger than any gun that had a right to be carried in blackened gauntlets. The heat of it pricking uncomfortably across the bare skin of her face, a feeling not dissimilar from standing under the open sun.

Hazel eyes like gleaming sun kissed gems regarded the pair curiously from features broad and stretched out to fit unfamiliar proportions, yet not wholly devoid of grace.

Close cropped dark hair shot through with broad swathes of grey about the temples accompanied a ruddy visage that was somehow both youthful yet ancient all at once with a trio of silver studs riveted above the right brow.

Lined by unknowable strain rather than wrinkles yet fresh with palpable vitality, strong yet weary wearing it's few deep bitten scars with tired pride, a face Asagi found she recognized. Her Father had worn the same burden in his expression every day since the sibling's mother had been taken, a person aged not by years but by the experiences in their lives.

Then her brain caught up with the Knight's words and she fumbled for the dagger at her feet, placing herself between the human and the shivering young man now clinging to her waist so tight it hurt. Silly trog, he was supposed to be running...though she supposed it was for the best. Wasn't much she and her little blade could hope to do against this, how much time would she buy, a second or two maybe...

"Y-Y-You...!" Asagi tried and failed to speak aloud, her mouth suddenly as dry as the deserts so close by. She gulped, collecting herself with a few rushed breaths and a muttered prayer to the gods or whoever else might be listening just like the elders had taught her. "You won't hurt him! I...I won't let you...!?"

It might have been her imagination, but the giant almost appeared pleased by the words rather than threatened.

"That wasn't my intent."

The Knight glanced from the children to the nearby fields and cottage pensively, weighing something in that overlarge head before finally turning his gaze skyward to stare into the stained heavens.

Unlike Midori who had done so amorously, there was only contempt. Pure and undisguised hatred that sent a thrill of adrenaline coursing through Asagi's body. Every instinct screaming at her to flee and take her brother with her.

"The boy spoke wisdom, child. One should not gaze upon such... _filth_ unduly." He closed his eyes and looked away, murmuring something unintelligible even to the children's Faunus senses. Something about an Angel and a Throne? "To do so lightly is to tax the Spirit and tempt corruption upon the edge of an abyss from which there can be no safe return. The risks to others...well..."

His gaze fell upon Ao who buried his head in his sister's dress. The young woman shivering with silent understanding of what might've been had he not distracted her.

"Who...What are...?" Asagi's questions were cut short by the whirring of distant sirens emanating from the Stronghold, and for the first time she noticed the dark smoke rising on extreme edges of Akai Hana, the direction of the White Fang's billet in the community. "...you...?"

The giant nodded more to himself than to Asagi, reacting long before the noise of roaring Dust propelled engines made themselves heard to the children's ears. A grey dot appearing along the horizon growing steadily closer even and more distinct as she followed it..a bullhead soaring lower than the Faunus had ever seen before, something along the chin spinning to life...

"Damn this curse!" He intoned fiercely, eyes darting about wildly as though he were somehow able to judge the crafts trajectory and such even in that short span of time, the figures he got obviously not to the knight's liking. Grimacing deeply, he interposed himself between the children and the oncoming attack craft, crouching low to shield his head with a broad forearm and a his weapon with his own body. "Keep to my shadow, do not dare move until I give...!?"

The rest of the sentence, whatever else he might've said, was lost as the Bullhead opened fire on the hillock. A steady stream of heavy rounds chewing up the dirt and wheat yields in a steady staccato of rapidly advancing plumes of dust and rubble that all too soon washed across the trios position.

Ao screamed silently as the world became not but debris clouds and deafening chaos, the old palm chewed to splinters in moments as the pair clung together desperately in their shared terror. At it's apex Asagi thought she might've heard a bell tolling and a pained grunt, almost recoiling backwards at the splash of something warm and coppery across her face but her brother kept her grounded, obeying the Knight's last orders to the letter.

In the moment it felt as though the barrage had lasted an eternity, though in reality it could only have been a couple seconds before the VTOL flew overhead, engines already maneuvering the craft about for another strafing run. The young girl couldn't stop shivering, her body aching and bruised from concussive proximity and bleeding from a dozen cuts she'd taken in shielding her brother from the tree's shrapnel.

Her brother...her brother was fine, scared out of his wits but alive without a scratch. Given the state of the once lush hill, pock marked and reduced to a ground down husk as was much of the fields on either side, it was nothing short of a miracle. The Knight however...

"Move, child!"

Heat bloomed across her back, close to scalding in its intensity and more than enough to make her yelp in surprise at the giant's sudden motion in angling himself and his massive weapon about. Now glowing so brightly it hurt to look at it directly, their savior hoisted the weapon to his shoulder and took aim at the offending craft, the sound of buzzing intensifying until Asagi could feel her teeth shaking in her gums.

"I SAID _MOVE_!" Now the voice was booming in its insistence and the young snake could do naught but listen or be broken by its command. Ao fought as she dragged him skidding and sliding down the slopes of churned mud, but she fought harder. The Knight's tone sonorous and reverent, audible even above the shrill whine. "Oh Emperor, see the flames of my wrath true to the heart of my foes. Blessed Sanguinius, through your example may the Blood keep me, and might your grace hold at bay the fury of stars. So let it be!"

And with that final note the ground at his feet curled with smoke and the air boiled with steam as the weapon discharged a globular blast of pure sunlight. The intensity nigh on blinding her as she sought to shield her brother's eyes, the heat intense even from this distance...to stand in the center of it all, to actually hold that power in hand...

The projectile burned like a shooting star across the space between soldier and craft, impacting squarely against the cockpit of the bullhead just as it turned and continuing on through to the cabin before detonating in an explosion that eclipsed all that had come before in brightness. This she did turn her head from, doing her best not to think about the lives ended in what fiery slag fell to Remant, instead focusing on the one who had done the deed, gasping as she did so.

At first she had thought the Knight unharmed, weathering the gunfire with stolid grace. One of those things were true, the warrior stood examining his handiwork with all the calm of one of the street artists glancing upon the canvas. Exactly how, she could not imagine given the gaping line carved from cheek to ear bleeding freely if steaming crimson in the aftermath of his own attack, the source of the blood across her own face and clothing no doubt. Much of his skin remaining irritated and reddened raw from the intense heat.

The armor itself now bore a few fresh scars and impact marks, one shoulder pad dented heavily inwards and the paper scripts adorning his armor having burned away to ash. Black and dull grey now coated much of his right side, the paint seared away to the material underneath spotted with flecks of crimson where shrapnel had penetrated and blood had spilled free.

"Girl."

Asagi straightened in open-mouthed awe, the giant pulling what appeared to have been a type of full helm affixed to his thigh, lowering the armor piece with a hiss of rushing air and activating technical components. One eye enlarged with focusing lenses buzzing to sudden life. The weary countenance replaced with the faceless implacable mask of a hero, or a monster.

The voice pouring from the grille similar yet wholly different to the unaugmented one. This new sound rendered harsh and grating on what thinned nerves she maintained.

To resist it was impossible, to fight it...

" **Take the boy and return to your hab, succor there with your kin until all noise has ceased. Only then will you return to your people with word of what has happened. Tell them not to be fear, for no reprisals shall be forthcoming, be they at the hands of the White Fang or anyone else. So says Giallo of the Lamenters Chapter Adeptus Astartes. Understand?"**

 _'Adeptus Astartes...Lamenters...?'_

Dimly Asagi nodded to show she had, unsure of what to say if anything. Everything had happened so fast, the whole of her world turning on it's head. What did one say in the face of that?

Ao at least had gone silent, staring off towards the stronghold where more hazy dots were appearing, reinforcements.

Enough firepower to tear this hill apart, and grind whole swarms of Grimm to nothing.

 **"Throne keep you, Child. My deepest apologies for the pains you have suffered for my presence."**

He turned and braced, appearing as a stature perched atop the broken mound, staring upon his enemies without fear or remorse.

Asagi...she just ran, stumbling and slipping more often than not but always moving with the safety of hearth and home in mind just as the Knight, Giallo, had instructed. Dragging her whimpering brother with her roughly by the arm as the temperature rose once more from behind them.

The herald of more explosions, more weapons fire, and booming overall...

 ** _"For the Angel! For the Imperium! Ave Imperator!"_**

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Menagerie - White Fang Command Den 4th Floor)**

It was the twinned impressions of confusion and pain that greeted Fennec Albain, appointed Representative of the White Fang's varied interests within the gilded cage of Menagerie, upon his struggling return to bitter consciousness.

 _'W-What?'_

His dust caked eyelids fluttered sluggishly, taking in the sight of detailed murals and other artistic works detailing the great triumphs and eccentricities of Faunus culture adorning the walls of the corridor in which he lay in ordered patterns. Order that was disrupted as the whole structure shook about and underneath him, dust cascading from the ceiling in torrents to dull the vibrant colors, flames rose from toppled braziers to sear away designs and fill the space with cloying smoky ash...

It was as though the entire hideout had been caught up in a storm, distant screams and the boom of explosions rising from the distance. Screams, _his_ people's screams...an attack, from seemingly out of nowhere without provocation or hardly any warning. An energy weapon barrage of a type never seen before having devastated the aerial cordon somewhere along the outliers of the nearby village in order to cover the advance of _something_ that had penetrated the structure itself.

The details difficult to make out across communications amidst the cries and gunfire...Atlas finally seeking an end to their part in the cause for Faunus dominance?

It seemed likely, who else would be so bold to strike at them in the border of Menagerie. Even that cowardly fool Ghira Belladonna would not have dared try something so overt, nor would he have allowed it even if the idea had occurred to him.

No, the Atlesian scum, it must be...!

 _'What...What is this? What was I... **!?** '_

More pain, nearing agony at this point...running...he'd been running down this corridor alongside, no...carried by his brother...his true brother and a squad of other, all fleeing towards the lift that would see both to the imagined safety an escape Bullhead already prepped and waiting in a chamber secreted above.

Fleeing from what exactly? He recalled fighting, being thrown...?

"...ther Fennec? Brother...ec can you...ear me...!?" More cries, shouted orders...his head ached so much it was difficult to think or process what was happening...but slowly, painfully, individual sentences began to peek out from the cracks. "Brother Fennec, we can't stay here! You need to come with me, now!"

A dark shape knelt over him though it was difficult to make out, a young woman whose skin shifted in time with the smoke and flames beneath a stylized Grimm mask...Sister Ilia? Yes, Sister Ilia was shouting his name with an urgency that went beyond duty to her superior, urging him to stand...to move on...Corsac...Corsac was positioned nearby behind a handful uniformed guards bearing spears, shields and rifles. His hood discarded revealing his thin features smudged by ash, drawn further back in stark terror...at what?

"...old this position at all costs, don't let that Atlesian monstrosity through!...Of course it is, what else could it be...!?...or the White Fang!"

The reason made itself known quite clearly, a veritable armored juggernaut lumbering from shadows that almost appeared to cling to its grey shaded form. Each step marked by the shattering of floor tiles and the hissing grind of shifting plates. It filled the space, the edges of it's shoulder plates grinding against the walls every so often between steps, defacing precious artwork that had stood the test of time for years with his very presence.

...Fitting, quite fitting...

Cast into focus by the fires and lights of emergency lumen strips, the full savage majesty of the beast was revealed plain to see. Flowing designs of white and crimson evoking oceanic predators covered nearly every inch of it's matte grey surface warring with splashes of deeper fresher crimson in varied splatter patterns about the frame.

All of it accented by leather fetishes bearing the teeth of various beasts affixed to it's neck, wrists, and pauldrons, some of which nigh on unrecognizable as anything belonging on Remnant's surface. Combined with its stylized helm and red markings Fennec nearly confused the creature for a beast of Grimm, and then found that such a thing might've been preferable to the alternative.

A Grimm could be understood if not reasoned with, this... _thing_ merely advanced step by pounding machine-like step to the beat of distant terrible detonations, unrelenting in utter silence.

That was the worst part Fennec reasoned, the absence of the bestial roars or taunting swagger one might expect from such a being.

Of course, then he saw it kill...

Two White Fang soldiers charged forward in dual formation, screaming their defiance while stabbing forth with their spears in a move that should have seen their target impaled and helpless. Faster than anything that size had any right to react however, the curved point of the first vanished in the palm of an unyielding gauntlet, crushed as was much of its wielder's upper torso a moment later. Ribs and vertebrae snapping like dry twigs above the outcries of all watching, including Fennec's own strangled call of disbelief, whatever Aura the poor fellow had utilized be damned under such aggression.

The Second avoided a similar fate by a hairs breadth, Dust-treated steel skidding off the monster's broad torso leaving a long scar in the paint but nary marking whatever material lie beneath. To his credit the unnamed Brother didn't relent, drawing back for another thrust before the Giant's free fist dashed his scaled skull against a floral mural in a splash of grey matter, staining the white lilies depicted.

Their killer hadn't even broken stride, if anything gaining speed in its graceless advance while the toothed blade of a chainsaw strapped under its clenched fist roared hungrily in time. Not that the remaining troopers stood idle, guns rising to bring the monster down in one glorious salvo...

"Fennec, we need to run...!?" Ilia's tone was ever more insistent, colored with fear and now entirely lacking in the basic respect of a title, disgraceful.

She would rather flee than stand with his brother? A fact that had Fennec so incensed he almost ached to draw his own weapon and move to join them just to spite the untrustworthy little pawn...huh? His weapon...where was his weapon? He couldn't...!?

Then the memory returned, of his and his brother's first encounter with the intruder. A flawless synchronized dance that had seen many a Grimm and human soldier brought low under their combined efforts harrying the behemoth. Fiery cuts scraping against its thickened defenses in welters of sparks, compressed wind shots putting it backward step by faltering step.

They had been winning...Of course they had been, nothing could stop the Albain brothers in concert, acting as one mind and purpose. Not even some Atlesian mechanical abomination could hope to stand against such a thing.

Then that moment...the unarmored joint of it's throat between helm and gorget exposed and it's footing poor on the rubble strewn ground, Fennec seeing his chance and moved to finish this in a leaping all-in gambit.

Corsac had tried to warn him off, always timid as he was prone to be, unable to see that a final decisive was the only way to end the threat once and for all.

Close, so very close...one moment his dagger wreathed in flames arcing downward in a stabbing thrust that would've seen it driven into the human bastard's throat, or at the very least its inner workings. The Faunus had darted in low, his last sight that of a broad shoulder pauldron depicting some caricature of an aquatic predator as though that would unnerve him.

Ridiculous, his arm lashing out towards the exposed joint, wreathed in flames from his weapon's Dust stores...

When, then, had the blade wound up skittering across the floor on the opposite side of the room still smoking, still clutched tightly in hand?

A hand ending in a bloodied stump, severed at the ragged juncture of wrist and elbow...

A wound still bleeding as Fennec stared down at it in renewed shock all over again, mouth agape in horror yet unable to scream. The time for that had come and gone, the torment however had proven a constant companion, despite it all...

The absence, the pain...pain that magnified by factors untold, but still...it was a good pain... ** _pAaaaAiN To bE ShaaAared_**...experienced by all...!?

 _'Wha...What!? I've never...I-I **wouldn't** , at least not by my brother and sister Faunus...the humans however...'_

A booming rapport completely at odds with the near constant chatter of the White Fang's rifles stilled all thought to his own depravity, setting him shoving the chameleon agent aside with the stump just in time to see the heads and shoulders of the duo standing at his brother's side vanish into blood mist. Skulls perforated with the kinetic force of the rounds used against them only to be blown apart upon impact and subsequent detonation akin to a grenade going off in a confined space.

 ** _"Gyaaaaarrgh!?"_**

Corsac's Aura barrier flickered brightly before collapsing outright with a sound similar to popping electrical circuits. His face so alike Fennec's own marred now by shrapnel both metallic and organic, the shards having reduced his left eye and much of his right cheek to gaping ruin. Staggering back, crying out in agonized fury all the while, the fox Faunus drew his dagger as well as Fennec's own in either hand, waving them about in warding patterns.

"B-Bashtard...human puppet! How...How dare you!?" The words were slurred by phlegm, broken teeth, and blood, but the meaning was clear enough in his stance. His remaining light brown orb staring at the oncoming monster in a potent combination of fear, anger, and above all defiance. "Thish ends here!"

Incredibly enough, it almost seemed to give the machine-thing pause, it's helm tilting as though in thought or contemplation over the brave warrior before it. Such an opening was all the time Corsac needed, bringing the twin Dust daggers together in a whirring buzz of clicking gears that signaled the mingling of shared power, the power of the Albains amplified by desperation and prideful fury.

A storm front poured from the leading blade's tip, a gale force wind that buffeted the giant with concentrated force the equal of any hurricane that had ravaged this region's shores. Teeth tore free from their leather bindings, chips of tile shards pattered across the front of it's armor stripping paint and nicks that would slowly become gouges under such pressure.

It's left arm rose, the glint of barrels affixed to the massive gauntlet shining in the guttering illumination before loosing another trio of rounds that veered off course, slamming impotently against the walls and ceiling in quick succession. Corsac laughing as he in turn stepped closer, increasing the intensity with white hot fire balls that slammed with percussive force and burned away the paint of the thing's front.

Such moves were precursors of victory, but more than that was when the silent giant's armor groaned, caught off balance and forced back a step and then another despite obvious attempts to fight it...

"Brother!" Fennec rallied at the sight, envious his brother was the one standing against this foe and not him, but proud as well.

Sister Ilia still insisted, bodily dragging him frantically now despite his protests. Her skin taking on a blueish tinge shot through with red, fear and frustration warring internally, a name on her lips...Blake? Blake Belladonna, the Traitor!?

What nonsense was this? How cowardly, could she not see their victory was at hand!?

The hastily bandaged stump of his dominant hand leaking crimson once more in response to his quickened heartbeat, marking the tiles as they went with curious shapes. Perhaps it was the blood loss, but the droplets almost appeared to be wriggling like living creatures, forming sigils that left a metallic tang in the ambassador's mouth.

Still Corsac's actions were not enough, not enough by far. Meter by ponderous meter the mechanical abomination leaned into the gust, steadily driving its self forward towards the disfigured obstacle in it's path, any and all noise it might've made stolen by the wind. The Faunus knew he had to do more, twisting the handle of the back weapon and adding a renewed stream of Fire Dust into the mix.

The results were spectacular, the sparks feeding off the wind to create a bludgeon of searing hot flame that stole the moisture from the air and screamed it's hatred at the human behemoth it consumed in the wake of the conflagration.

At first there was struggle, armored limbs flailing at the new onslaught as if such meager efforts would fan away the flames, and then...nothing. It's broad form vanishing behind a wall of fire, no doubt rendered to so much ash.

Such an attack was risky, swiftly draining the Dust cells of both weapons, yet it lethal potency could not be understated. Even the standard mechanical legions of Atlas folded under such heat, their savage attempt at innovation would doubtless fare little better.

 _'As it should be.'_ Fennec thought with a broad smirk despite all this day had cost him and the movement at large. A new headquarters would need to be established, security re-examined, new blood added to the ranks to replace those lost today...but it mattered little. _'The Faunus will be victorious. **We** are the superior species. **We** will see the humans back to their proper place in the world. Nothing will stop us, noth...!?'_

Much like the predator marked upon his armor, the grey-clad warrior struck from the depths of the flames the moment the weapon ran dry of Dust.

His towering bulk still smoldering in places, the heat of it in the air palpable and quite uncomfortable even to Fennec's rapidly failing physicality. As was the aura of pure threat he exuded as his chain-toothed weapon tore upwards through Corsac's flagging Aura directly into his stomach, hoisting him bodily into the air and allowing his Prey's own weight to drag the blade further up his body slowly...so slowly...

 _"BROTHER!"_

He clawed at the treacherous reptile with swipes that grew ever weaker by the second, Ilia all but carrying the injured man by this point, her eyes shifting between the escape at the end of the hall so close by and the horrific scene from which Fennec couldn't tear his gaze away. His brother still somehow alive, being examined like some interesting bauble by his would-be executioner.

Coughing out words more blood spray than actual speech, their meaning lost by distance and reserved only for the giant, Corsac snarled and rammed the spent dagger into the seam between gauntlet and forearm.

Some last ditch attempt to free himself, one final spitting act to strike at his foe, the Fox Faunus had no idea.

He could only watch as the savage creature regarded both the knife and individual on his arm, shaking that snout of a head before calmly and efficiently going about the business tearing Corsac Albain's head from his shuddering shoulders.

Red...so much red...a final empty stare from an eye shot through with terror and confusion beyond measure before being tossed aside like so much trash.

 ** _"NOOOO!"_**

Freeing his kill from his bladed fist without ceremony or comment, the kinslayer regarded only two other living beings inhabiting the space, Fennec screaming every obscenity and threat he could muster from slurring lips and tear filled eyes, and Ilia slamming her fist on the door release and cursing the grinding slowness of the double steel doors.

In the end she gave in and turned, reaching for her waist and loosing the crackling lightning whip with a _*SNAP-CRACK*_ and the humming of building ambient energy. She would die fighting at least, but hopefully not before she'd taken a piece of her killer with her.

And they were going to die, this _thing_ was going to kill them. Of that neither had much doubt, much to Fennec's half-crazed displeasure.

All their work for their people, all the sacrifices and hardships, all of it would come to naught.

Or so they thought...

The giant moved to take another grinding step punctuated with the whirring of servo-motors and hydraulic supports towards them, applying it's full weight in readiness to charge when the entire building shook around them. Distant explosions rattling the storied hideout to its core foundations, and somewhere along the line something had to give.

That something proving to be the exact section of footing upon which the murderer stood, the floor tiles splitting one after the other in a rapid series of hollow cracks until it suddenly all fell away with a deafening moan of shifting masonry.

And like that the beast was gone, lost to the distant shadows of the floor below, and the floor below that judging by the similar sound welling up from the opening.

The creature's own weight was working against it, gravity straining to drag it down... _down_... _ **down**..._

Neither could be quite sure of exactly what had happened, how or why their fortune had suddenly shifted, to call it good luck would be to trivialize the great losses they had already faced.

Fennec cursing bitterly once more before slumping off to the side pale-faced and unconscious, mumbling about seeing if the 'Predator' had died in the fall. Vengeance clearly on the mind, for good reason.

Ilia could sympathize, even if she held no great love for the Ambassador or his late brother, she knew full well how raw the loss of a loved one could be. Still, dead or not, there was no way the chameleon or her charge would be sticking around to find out. The agent dragging the bloodied fox into the tight confines of the emergency elevator along with her, brow furrowed and face red as she tried not to think about those they were leaving behind.

It was a necessary sacrifice after all, High Command needed to be made aware their branch in the Human's cage land had fallen. They needed to know they were being hunted.

 _'Only then will we get our payback.'_

 _The_ chameleon mused with a grunt just differentiate herself even more from that fiend, managing one last glimpse at the carnage of the hall before her before the sliding doors cut such things mercifully off from view, her back slumping against the cold metal as she slid down opposite the crippled Fox Faunus...

 _'What kind of twisted maniac creates something like that?'_

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Menagerie - White Fang Command Den 1st Floor**

"... _ousin? Cousin, do you...me? Respond!"_

Utter blackness encircled him on all sides, smothering senses both physical and artificial as it embraced the the Carcharodon Astra. Not the oppressive emptiness of the Void, no...this paltry imitation of rockcrete dust and shattered timber could hardly compare to the cold depths of the Outer Dark, that vast and most dangerous of deeps plied by the nomadic Predation Fleets of the Chapter.

It was far too loud for one, in the Void there was silence in all things. Peace and death in perfect natural harmony, with Rangu himself as its great judge.

Not here, where the shifting weight of settling rubble pitted itself against the whirring whine of fibre-bundle musculature, the distantly muffled shouting of ten or more separate contacts from what he could discern.

A rapid response strike team no doubt, moving to investigate the site of where their executioner had finally settled after a fall that had rocked this poor attempt at fortification to the point of near collapse, buried under the detritus of nearly half a dozen separate floors that had journeyed in the rapid descent back to the first alongside him.

" _Answer me if you still...breath, Carcharodon...registering hostile armed...tacts closing on your position!"_

The Outer Dark also didn't suffer the existence of fools such as this one...

"A figure of Influence among this subspecies of Abhuman...this ' _Fennec Albain_ ' the beastborn curs hold in such high regard." Tetahi Mā intoned a reply through gritted teeth, making himself above the insistent chirps of Auspex and other auxiliary systems echoing within the confines of his Tactical Dreadnought Armor's ancient helm and only there. The vox-emitter in the shaped snout of the equipment rendered inert as per usual.

To his gen-hanced ears however the vocalization sounded as the low insistent rumble of oceanic tidal shifts welling from the depths of a throat long used to silence.

Many, even among his peers in other Adeptus Astartes Chapters, might have felt uncomfortable being sealed in such a way.

It was not so for the Space Marines of the Carcharodon Astra, trained since the early days of their induction to embrace the Void of space as their spiritual home. To see a kind of peace in the silent emptiness where others saw only death and emptiness devoid of hope...or so some of those rare records, those few referenced instances where the beasts that roamed the Galactic Fringe were remarked upon, stated.

Tetahi Mā could care less for the flowery rhetoric of half-mad survivors and chaff left behind in the wake of the Chapter's tithes. The Terminator was a killer of the Red Brethren and a prolific one at that, sworn to the service of the Red Wake and the murder of those that stood before him in threat.

And neither was he trapped, despite what these _'Faunus'_ might believe...

He was not detained by injury or obstacle, no...no it was anger that kept him fixed here in the dark. The _Blindness_ , the killing frenzy spurred by denial and murder lust, threatening to consume his thoughts wholesale if not for this brief lonely meditation. His attempts to apply the internal silence and the wider nothingness of the Void to himself.

To let such physical concerns be made irrelevant in the face of the mission, even this self-imposed one.

When he killed the abhuman filth, and he _would_ see them slain them for the glory of _Rangu_ demanded it, he would do so in his right mind.

Sadly the irritating buzzing in his ear was making the attainment of that calm rather difficult at present.

"Cowering, broken, the perfect prey."

 _"Such exaggeration ill suits you,_ Mā." The other Space Marine's familiarity set a nerve twitching almost imperceptibly above the Terminator's broad pallid brow as the signal quality of the comm-signal improved steadily, a sign of the yellow armored Devastator drawing leaving his perch a top a raised outcrop overlooking what remained of the hideout where he had been able to make best use of his pernicious weapon. " _Contacts directly above your position. I can attempt to redirect...!_ "

Truly the Lamenter spoke too much, far beyond what was seemly. His words and observations often unnecessary in an attempt to build rapport. Tetahi Mā needed no such things.

The Void Brother's eidetic memory could still clearly imagine the scene of only scant minutes before, vividly painting the consummate expression of horror, anger, and confusion etched into the canid-creature's slim jawed face as the female had dragged him with her in some feeble useless attempt to flee.

Seconds more and both would have been lying shattered or scattered at his feet, but his hunt had been interrupted, the kill denied...

" _ **Exaggeration**_!? Because of your incompetence, Lamenter, the wretch yet lives to plague us!"

A whirring roar stole what meager quietude still remained. The blade of a mighty chainfist covered in flowing white exile markings, darkened by grime and fire damage, tore free from underneath the vast weight of support stanchions, shattered tiling, and metal spars, spearing the unfortunate ram-horned Faunus that had been one of those scouting ahead of his fellows through the armored chest piece he wore.

The body armor as well as much of the unfortunate mutant's upper torso was succinctly reduced to crimson tatters scattered along the top layer of the pile in the time it took Tetahi Mā's twin hearts to beat thrice.

Very much to the chagrin of his remaining comrades who opened fire immediately upon seeing their target working itself free of the now bloodied mess lying about, shouldering the full encumbrance of a support pillar half again as large as himself comprised of lacquered wood off to the side as the other gauntlet rose now to shield his helm from the worst of the oncoming retaliation, advancing ponderously but swiftly building speed down the incline.

Sudden outcries of alarm cut short signalling that at least two more of the White Fang had been crushed beneath his burden's rolling weight.

 _"My incompetence!?"_ The Lamenter sounded almost offended at the notion, growing defensive. _"I warned that the building's structure could be compromised_ _under barrage conditions, did I not? Especially in the face of sustained plasma bombardment."_ Had he now? It was very possible, Mā had been using the Void Father's gift of his _Lyman's Ear_ to consciously filter out Giallo's endless rambling after a two hour long 'discussion' regarding the weather patterns of this world, this _Remnant._ _"You insisted on a frontal assault regardless, Carcharodon, deeming the risks to be 'acceptable' if I recall correctly."_

The Scion of Sanguinius' lecturing manner continued on, punctuated by the dull pitter-patter of hard impacts falling harmlessly like hail across the Terminator's layers of dull grey ceramite. Every now and then a pop of fire or ice signaled one of the rounds as being Dust reactive, a curious mineral reaction native to this world and lesser application than that knife utilized by the Faunus he had dispatched.

Noteworthy, if only for determining target priority.

Such tricks might prove dangerous to an Astartes in standard configurations of armor, but these foolish mutants would require far more than this to defeat this storied example of his Chapter's arsenal.

The arm shielding his helm extending instead towards one of the White Fang Hostiles situated towards the back of the line, her gun larger and her bearing that of a Commander or Squad Leader. It would be a simple matter for the custom Storm Bolter built into his left gauntlet to erase all traces of the dog-eared woman in seconds regardless of this strange force shielding tech some seemed to carry, so simple.

Then he noticed the doubled spiral dagger-like weapon driven deep into the plasteel under layer between the ceramite of his gauntlet and elbow, embedding itself in the heat-warped material and still smoking from leftover Dust residue.

His left arm paused then lowered while his right came up, battering aside a masked soldier unable or unwilling to flee from his path with an almost dismissive backhand, not even bothering to gun the teeth of the Chainfist.

It was unnecessary in the end after all, the blow having caved the mutant's ribcage inward and left him crumpled in a misshapen heap, unable to scream with most of his internal organs perforated. Consigned to a slow death by what in his perspective stood as a massively armored and utterly silent behemoth. Necessity kept Tetahi Mā from turning about and finishing the mewling creature, just as it had stayed his bolt.

Approximately five Terran-Standard days had passed since he had been deposited onto the surface of this unfamiliar world fighting its fauna and these Faunus cretins, five days with his only source of aid being given at the hands of perhaps the most unfortunate Space Marine he had ever encountered from a pathetic Chapter of disgraced would-be Traitors.

More importantly, it had been five days without signs of resupply. Every bolt shell, every subtle piece of equipment in his kit, was a precious finite commodity under self-imposed conservation protocols.

Not an unfamiliar feeling to the Carcharodon whose Chapter often suffered shortages and operational setbacks by virtue of their exile. He had spent several this day alone in his assault, even if none were for his intended targets...

"DIE YOU SOULLESS BASTA...!?" Soon perhaps he might have to enact his own Grey Tithe upon this world, the seizure of necessary arms and technologies to prosecute his will. But that was a thought for another time as his Chainfist roared to life at the apex of his charge, obliterating everything above the squad leader's squealing neck and sparing his ears her final mewling defiance.

 _"_ The foe flees as we sit idle!"

" _The foe also bleeds. These foes in particular, it's...excessive._ "

One of the mutants had grown desperate, coming at the Terminator with sword in hand...a sword? As though mere steel, not even a power weapon, could do any more than the firearms had.

In fact the sight of it was so pitifully desperate that the Carcharodon actually stood by and allowed the swing to connect, the Faunus' eyes widening a fraction in dull surprise as his blade snapped. Just as his neck and spine did when Mā snatched hold and hoisted him bodily into the air, tearing him limb from bleeding limb in a torrent of arterial spray before his fellow's gasping horror, adding new marks to his armor to stand along those earned in exile.

There he stood above them, as soundless and merciless as the void...

 _"Your kind haven't changed one bit in these last decades."_ The tone over the vox was bitter, indicating well enough the Devastator's thoughts on the matter. _"I witnessed your Chapter's bloody actions against the Mantis Warriors, the massacre you inflicted on our sworn brothers. The shame you hoisted upon the_ m, taking their future..."

"They shamed themselves, as did you and yours, Lamenter." As if to punctuate his statement, the Astartes shoulder checked another of the charging White Fang across the broad side of his _Crux Terminatus_. This bovine eared example bearing a spear, one that fared little better than the earlier blade as did it's wielder. "We did the Void Father's will that day and earned our tithe in flesh. Now enough mindless talk, where is the target!?"

 _"Fleeing the area in some form of aerial escape craft faster than others encountered, I am already keeping apprised of its course. This 'Dust' substance the natives use to power their vessels leaves quite the...!"_

"Tracking!?" Mā all but spat the word, his auto-senses shifting to _Preysight_ parameters upon detecting more incoming hostiles. Reinforcements missed during the initial assault no doubt. The blood hungry Machine Spirit of his armor rejoicing, painting targeting locks across his vision, highlighting areas of increased vulnerability. "If you can track their movements so easily, why have you not engaged!?"

 _"They had already moved well beyond the range of the plasma cannon by the time I'd acquired them. That, and I noted you were surrounded."_

"By chaff."

The Space Marine could almost imagine his fellow, the glow of a steaming magnetic accelerator coils outlining his golden hued aspect. Having no doubt worked himself into a higher vantage point with clear view of both the nearly skies above and the one sided skirmish below. For him to have missed any such escape well before he could respond...laughable, if it were not so infuriating.

Giallo had been against a wholesale attack stratagem, and now he allowed stragglers their escape. If he were not the only other sign of familiar support in this blighted cesspit of a world the Carcharodon might have killed the pathetic wretch himself. To empathize with abhuman scum, to the point of even considering mercy...

 _'He remembers his brothers in arms, falling by the Chapter's hand. He sympathizes...such weakness.'_

 _"We identified this White Fang as an enduring, if minimal, splinter threat to the human population of this world. Our intervention was warranted, Cousin, but we must learn more if we are to...!"_

"More?" The terminator didn't shout the words, he didn't have to. His anger made clear in the manner in which he eviscerated the next Faunus that came within arm's length, his transhuman mind quite capable of splitting focus between conversation and slaughter. "We are the Adeptus Astartes, an enemy of mankind stands before us, what _**more**_ is there?"

 _"Is it so shocking that some of us require a proper reason to direct our wrath? We are the Emperor's angels, not His blood fiends."_ For all his talk, lives were still reduced to ash with every booming rapport of Giallo's broad weapon shaking what remained of the now burning structure. He sounded morose however, weary... _"You must've seen similar sense memories after our...'feast'. We have allies in this crusade, if we but ask. The locals even of the 'Kuo-Kuana settlement to the West. At the very least they can direct us further."_

A data-squirt appeared in the bottom half of the screen, relaying the escaping crafts trajectory and overlaying it with the pair's rough overlook of the region. Mā blink clicking it away with a barely suppressed snarl.

 _"Flank it, bring the bastard down! FOR THE WHITE FANG!"_

"The other Abhumans of this Menagerie? You would beg such creature's aid!?"

 _"In the face of that Warp-damned Storm, I would indeed. If only to provide a greater understanding of the plight we find ourselves in."_ He paused, Mā almost seeing the pensive frown pulling at a lip despite not knowing what the other Space Marine looked like beneath the Mark IV face plate. No doubt the preening 'nobility' found in nearly all the successors of the Great Angel. _"Understanding that didn't leave me with a foul taste in my mouth."_

"And if they attempt to hinder us instea...!?"

A _Burn_ Dust round pinged against the side of Mā's helm, exploding in a torrent of heat and light that cascaded the image into static for a moment, leaving the auto-senses cycling through varies filters and dampening solutions.

In short, it lit a spark in the Space Shark's twin hearts and set fire flowing through his veins in the form of injected combat stimulants and adrenal filters that brought his secondary heart into thundering action.

 _ **"RRRRRRAAAAAAGGHH!"**_

Opening his vox-casters with an instinctive thought, the first sound he allowed the Faunus of the White Fang to hear was a throat tearing roar that had more than one staggering back clutching at ringing secondary eardrums. Easy prey, and they died as such. Some screaming for mercy in their debased terror, others silent and staring at their executioner with the instinctive fear response so common to enemies facing Space Marines.

Tetahi Mā knew none of this, hearing not their wailing begging though he would have disregarded such things even if he had. The _Blindness_ consuming him in ravenous kill frenzy for which there could only be one release...

 _"That, cousin."_ Giallo looked on helplessly from his vantage as the Carcharadon's heavy footfalls padded dully across blood soaked floors choked with corpses.

The observer, a voyeur seeing through his "ally's" visual feed at the carnage taking place, knowing well the hopelessness of the Faunus within in the face of this creature. His darker thoughts drifted to desperate retreats called nearly a standard century before as whole squads were swallowed in a tide of grey ceramite, consumed by either the silent predator or the howling butcher.

The monsters of the Badab War...

" _You can do **that**."_

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 **A/N: Welp, Canon is officially shot...**

 **People wanted a glimpse at the depopulation-fest, hope I delivered on that. This chapter was actually quite different from how it wound up. Problem was length was becoming an issue (And it still came out to 10k+, me and my ranting). Thinking with all the povs and plot it'd be easier to keep then somewhat contained, Beacon crew will likely be the focus, Raaf and Vernal, The Space Marines, and the occasional bit of heresy. As things go it will definitely focus down as favorites get established.**

 **It's big, I know and somewhat regret it, but still it's a blast. Knocked out Asagi and Giallo's bit in a day. Thought it'd be good to give him some character to differentiate the pair. Lamenters & Carcharodon Astra are VERY different beasts entirely. The Blindness for example is a sort of half Gene-flaw half psycho-conditioning error in the Space Sharks, like a blood frenzy for actual sharks.**

 **Anyway hope to update again soon. Thanks for all the recent support 100+ followers, that's crazy. -Mojo**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 9 - Definition of Imperium-**

* * *

 _ **We go where we wilt. We slay who we wilt. Let the Emperor judge the righteousness of our deeds.**_

\- Sergeant D'Kestrel, Raven Guard 1st Company

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Anima - Branwen Tribe Campgrounds)**

'Survival of the fittest', that simplest of truths that lay at the heart of all things.

That the feeble and the ill-prepared would falter and die off as they would...while the mighty and capable would thrive and endure.

Such was how the Branwen Tribe of Anima had endured, prevailing against both the creatures of Grimm and the Kingdoms of Remnant's best attempts to see them to ruin. Why? Because they were the strong, and by right of might they took what they needed from those too weak to deserve them, cruel as it was.

It was the struggle for life, souls from all walks coming together, bound by that simple rule. The Tribe surviving and even thriving within the unforgiving wilds while villages twice their size or more had come and gone over the years.

Strength was everything, it made them feared, victorious.

And much of that success had to do with the guidance of one woman, Raven Branwen. The Huntress who had defied the leaders of the so-called "civilized" portion of Mankind, choosing instead to go her own way, leading _her_ people. Taking in strays and lost rabble, the cast offs and the unwanted, teaching them how to survive in this cruel world and snag something back for themselves.

Beautiful even in simple robes of red and black, adorned with the minimum of extravagance yet wholly dignified, a Queen. She certainly was inspiring as one might imagine, yet also beyond intimidating even without the beaked Grimm helm she always seemed to carry within easy reach.

Both facts Vernal noted all too well as she regarded the other woman lounging back in her padded seat on the floor across from her, or more accurately was regarded _by_ her. A table set between them bared but for a steaming pot of tea and two delicate floral cups, her hide-bound tent empty but for the two inhabitants. Sparsely lit by guttering candle flames, the Bandit Chief preferring a more simple approach, and quite cozy despite the abundance of storage crates and chests stacked about haphazardly.

Some of those the Lieutenant knew bore splendid riches such as jewels and fine antiques that would've made any collector weep with envy. Others contained little more than simple books and manuscripts detailing a variety of subjects which the Bandit leader treasured above all else, even if her Second never could for the life of her fathom why.

A familiar place where she had been welcomed almost as, though the young woman would never dare voice it aloud just as Raven herself would never say it, a daughter. Where she'd been given the name ' _Vernal_ ' on that dark night she and her Leader never spoke of.

It should have felt relaxing, comfortable in its way...it ' _should have_ ' at any rate...

"...and I'll admit to being more than a little curious." Raven breathed out a long sigh, nails tapping out a steady beat on the hardwood surface. "How did our special "Guest" manage to escape our hospitality this time?"

The Majordomo stiffened upon her cushioned seat, expecting the question but not the casual manner her Leader voiced it. Raven could've been inquiring about the weather, or some other tidbit of camp gossip for all the emotion she showed. No anger, no threat, more resigned with a hint of disappointment.

And somehow that made it all the worse, and Branwen knew it too. One had to admire her for that.

"I'm sorry, Raven. It was my fault, I didn't think...!?" It was hard to meet Raven's eyes, even for someone that had been by her side for as long as Vernal had.

"I didn't ask for an apology or excuses. I _asked_ you how it was Raaf Praeto slipped away, _again_?" The same level tone delivered from across the expanse between them, though with slightly more emphasis this time. Lovely, just what her already frayed nerves needed... "Well, Vernal? I'm waiting."

"Thing about that is...you see..."

Vernal paused and drew in a deep breath of cloying air laden with the aroma of herbal incense. A half dozen varieties of Dust from the Cinnamon of _Burn_ to the sharp mint of _Frost_ , lingering somewhat above the musty odor of old parchment and vellum. Picking her words carefully before proceeding, composing herself as she'd been taught.

Raven Branwen wanted facts, problem was that fact and reason didn't always seem to apply to this particular subject...

"The big guy sort've just...keeled over, dropped. Or he did according to the bunch supposed to be keeping an eye out." A classic trick, obvious to anyone who'd ever watched a Mistrali jailhouse drama...or it should've been obvious for a band of thieves and criminals. "Guys must've thought Praeto was kidding around at first. Wouldn't be the first time, talking to himself, twitching at shadows...anyway then they noticed their prisoner hadn't taken a breath for going on half an hour and got spooked."

She winced, remembering clearly her annoyance at the cowering grunt who'd brought the matter to her attention. Some blithering New Blood spluttering every second word and painfully slow to reach the point.

Though to be fair to poor sap, it also probably didn't help matters that she'd been a good quarter of the way deep into a clay jug of pilfered saké by the time he'd arrived and eager for more. The sweet bitter balm the only reliable means she'd found of quelling the nightmares that had been relentlessly plaguing her dreams for going on almost a week now.

 _'Ever since that damned Storm...'_

The Storm, the Cataclysm some around the Camp had taken to calling it...that strange pulsing corona of shifting colors that even now threatened to obscure the moon overhead in a bruised purplish glow that none either on official Kingdom channels nor the occasional ranting of doomsayers could adequately explain. And its effects...

Scattered glimpses of visions her mind hardly remembered yet without a doubt left her bolting upright in bed gasping for air, drenched in sweat and feeling like she'd actually been running from the horrors chasing her rather than just imagining it. Twisted creatures with overlarge fangs and skin the color of blood, sensuous disfigured monstrosities half human half _something_ writhing about in languid stutters, or the occasional distended fat bellied bundles of flesh dancing merrily...

Long story short, all images that left her groggy and moody for the rest of the morning afterwards, haunting her quiet moments.

And Vernal wasn't alone either, more than half the camp complained of strange dreams among...other things. Curious sightings that couldn't be explained away easily, bouts of sudden aggression or more lurid emotions from the unlikeliest sources.

The worst of the lot stemming from among those that had been at her side in that damned cave, not that she was much better off.

Even Raven was starting to show the strain, though of course she handled it as she did all things, with seamless grace and an edge of brutality. But there had still been the crack here and there...a tension simmering beneath the tides that welled up at the worst times.

The same tension that Vernal could see affilicting her lead even now...

"Ran in to check on him. Bad move, as it turns out." She'd bloody told them, ordered them really, not to open that blasted cage for any reason or get any closer than they had too. If only she'd been swifter on the uptake...damned dreams...

"Obviously." Raven brought her cup to her lips almost daintily, savoring the beverage for a moment before near-glowing crimson met sky blue once more... "So it was trick, then? Must've been convincing if they felt it worth going against your instructions?"

 _'Your instructions'..._ her responsibility, she meant.

There was the recrimination she'd been waiting for, the lesson. Raven didn't oft lose her temper, she had far more effective means to make her displeasure known. Vernal unable to help a subtle glance towards the sword delicately positioned by the other woman's leg, ready to be snatched up and drawn in an instant.

"Best we can reckon, our resident Headcase somehow managed to stop his own hearts from beating, or slow em'. ' _Hearts_ ', as in he's got two of them. _Two_!" Plus an extra lung from what Doc could tell, along with a few other additions not at all native to the human body whose purpose of which she could only hazard a guess at... "Anyway, by the time I got there he'd already made it over the walls and into the woods. Watch swears they didn't see a thing, but I knew. It's what I'd do, so I went after him."

"Mm-hmm. And how did that go?"

How did it go indeed...

Alone and far from fully recovered or so they'd thought, stripped of his weapons and equipment in the dead of night?

In any normal case their wayward prisoner would have wound up as some Grimm's plaything within the hour, tops. And that was if he was lucky and managed to keep his head down long enough not to slip off some cliff or lose himself in a bog.

 _'In any normal case anyway, as if anything about this or him could be considered normal...'_

...Maybe that fervent belief had been why the Lieutenant herself had been so adamant about venturing out alone after Praeto? Or perhaps she'd just felt guilty that Raven's prize had scarpered on her watch and felt she'd needed to fix things herself to make up for the failure.

It could've been a mixture of both, or neither. The drink and her own begrudging desperation making her stupid, reckless beyond all good sense.

She hadn't expected to return with anything more than bad news and a corpse for her troubles. The whole situation growing all the more hopeless in the extreme with every passing moment, leaving her wondering in those more desperate moments if it was all for naught.

Still, Vernal was the finest warrior in the Camp aside from Raven herself, and knew the surrounding environment like the back of her hand.

In the face of that, how could Praeto have ever stood a chance of remaining undetected, alive or not?

* * *

 **(The Previous Night)**

Quite easily as it turned out...

Hours spent backtracking over her quarry's false trails and dead ends well into the night like some rookie as the darkness and shadows sought to play tricks on her at every bend and turn. Swearing high and low, cursing the slippery bastard as more than one Grimm leapt out to take their shot at her only to be gunned down or diced to pieces beneath her blades and ever-mounting frustration.

 _'Maybe it's better if Praeto stays scarce, likely to kill him myself at this rate...'_

By the time those first telltale slivers of dawn had peeked out across the horizon however, she'd been resigned on top of bleary eyed and exhausted.

Unwilling to accept defeat and turn back, yet having to admit after the half dozenth time Vernal had found herself unwittingly circling the same copse of dead woods that she may just have met her match. The Bandit had outrun Huntsmen and Huntresses, tracked down specific Grimm or other targets in the course of mercenary work, but this was different...

 ** _*Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump...*_**

 _"..._!?"

Wondering at just how she'd explain her failure to her Leader, she'd turned on her heels only to be beset by yet another Grimm drawn by her frustration tearing through the treeline...quite literally, and violently. Ancient pines and gnarled oaks were as nothing, splinters bursting forth like scything shrapnel that would've torn her apart if not for the flicker shine of sky-blue Aura shielding her from harm.

Teary eyes blinking through the pain of lingering dust and debris, Vernal leapt back skidding through the dirt and sludge to gain some distance though more intent on catching a glimpse at the thing attacking her rather than running. Drawing as ever on Raven's lessons to guide her.

 _"Knowledge is power...knowledge of your environment, knowledge of the enemy..."_

A Beowolf Alpha stood hulking before her, all flesh-rending claws and snapping teeth, and that wasn't even the worst of it.

A monster in every sense of the word, vastly overgrown beyond any beast of similar breed she'd ever faced previously, and she had faced more than a few in her time. Thick bulging cords of muscle straining as it lumbered forward on armored pads, spiked bone ridges along its back quivering with every steaming breath, its maw dripping with something that looked and smelled disturbingly like blood but sizzled on contact with the forest floor.

In short, it a thing straight out of a nightmare...one that shouldn't have been _here._

Ancient Grimm existed in places uninhabited by mankind, that much was common knowledge. Predators guided by rapt survival instinct and cunning beyond the standards set by their younger kin as they sought to grow stronger and evolve. Waiting for their moment to strike.

Thing is there was no way Raven or anyone else at the Camp would've missed something like this beast in their patrols. No way a Grimm could've developed to this point without at least someone noticing and acting upon it. Mistakes like that just didn't happen, not with Branwen in charge.

Plus it just felt...off. The way it moved with a jerking stutter step, how it looked to be in pain as it breathed, its eyes...all of it simply...wrong. An older Predator wouldn't have bothered with the Majordomo, not after the mess she'd made of it's comrades only a short while earlier. Even if it had, she felt it would've been cleverer than to just charge in snout first screaming at the top of its lungs.

Unfortunately, such things were a mystery that the Alpha in question wan't too keen on giving her time to solve. A rapidly descending red tinged claw coming down precisely where Vernal would have been standing only moments before had she been a heartbeat slower in darting to the side towards imagined safety. All thoughts of exhaustion or tiredness swiftly fleeing with a rush of adrenaline and focused aggression.

She'd meant to come up in a neat roll, flank the big bastard and take it out fast...okay maybe not too fast, it had been a long night. Sometimes a girl just needed an outlet.

As it was, the over-pressure exerted from that one impact alone carried her aloft on eddies of concussive force. The Beowolf's strength cratering the ground in a deafening explosion of soil and shattered timber that blew outwards in all directions, pitching her far further than she'd intended straight into the path of a nearby tree trunk with enough momentum to knock the startled breath from her lungs.

Head ringing and chest burning, the stunned combatant still thankfully had enough presence of mind to comprehend that the Grimm wasn't done attacking just yet, not by a long shot. Loosing a blood-curdling sound that was more scream than howl, it lunged forward, heedless of the mangled wreck that had taken the place of it's right arm.

Damage inflicted under its own power, as though its body hadn't developed to take the kind of strain it could now dish out. Jagged shards of bone jutting forth from the skin, pouring leaking torrents of crimson and black as it trailed in the air behind its charging gait. Some of the spray dissolving into the air as normal, most however wound up trailing in a sizzling line that smelt like burnt iron.

Disgusting...probably why the snapping hiss of her paired weapons springing from inactivity to sudden life in a flurry of hooked rivet blades felt so damned good. As did the * _SNAP-HISS*_ of discharge, the barrel of her offhand weapon lighting up the shadowed enclave with a beam of Dust-born energy. Slicing neatly into the meat of the Freak's face and shoulder plates, gouging great chunks of bone and blackened flesh, before scything downward to take the shattered appendage off at the elbow...but against all reason it didn't slow, not one bit.

If anything the loss of the limb only served to anger the creature more, which only seemed to make it move all the faster. Her clip clicking dry at the very moment the beast's half ruined face loomed above her, forcing her shift to the side or risk being crushed under sheer bone-shattering momentum, blood beating time in her eardrums.

"Hah! Stubborn one, eh!? Well, good thing I'm feeling ' _generous'_ tonight!"

Another wild swipe of its good claw swept a hair's breadth above Vernal's head, close too close...about the best response she could've expected really. The Bandit making excellent use of the creature's frothing lack of focus to duck and leap through the howling bastard's complete and utter lack of a guard at the very last second.

Curved steel carved a proper piece of its midsection along the way before she neatly cartwheeled away through the air well out of reach. A good move, but she could do it one better, smirking wickedly before building momentum, weapons spinning outward in neat arcs from her hands to slice neat trails across the Grimm's back and thigh.

Hefty injuries, not the sort it would be walking away from anytime soon or at all if Vernal had her way about it. The chakram blades snapping back in her waiting grip with a grinning flourish of dissolving dark matter meat and gore, but not all of it faded. Crimson liquid, what little of it there was, stuck to the steel like glued jelly, scoring the metal even as she watched with a quick tick of her brow.

 _'It doesn't matter, worry about the now. Enemy is still up...'_ With that thought in mind, her fingers found the triggers on instinct alone, the Dust within humming gently in response to her Aura which she noted burned the caustic substance up like fat on a fryer, _'...but not for long...'_

"Aw...running out of steam already?" She crooned mockingly at the sight of her prey managing a few staggering steps forward into the tree it had tried to bludgeon her against, using a quivering claw to support itself against a low hanging branch in an almost human gesture of weariness. Whining piteously at the obscured moon hanging above through a mess of bruised sky, barely visible in the dawn light. "Shame, for a moment you had me thinking I was... _OH C'MON!?"_

Her frustration was unwanted but not unwarranted, rather than fall, the Alpha was breathing in a second wind. It's eyes burning with more fiery hatred and fervor than before, glowing scarlet veins pulsing beneath it's fur in bulging parody of the markings that adorned most Grimm. Fur-clad muscles rippling and distending in random fits and bursts, as though the Alpha was nothing more than some horrendous skin-suit stretched across bulk that refused to be contained. The end result more simian than lupine, and even then it was still a chimeric nightmare thing panting and hissing in wheezing gasps.

Worse than even that, its wounds had stopped already bleeding. The burning bloody liquid so prevalent before congealing into burbling hissing scabs that hardened into something almost resembling miniature horns. The bleeding stump of it's forearm now resembling more a short lopsided punch dagger of vitae-tinged crystal.

 _'By the gods!?'_ Vernal stiffened, the spare cartridge she'd been about to load into her spent weapon slipping from suddenly numb fingertips. _'What does it take to kill this thi...!?"_

Before she could finish the thought her world darkened, the branch that the beast had been leaning against suddenly flying end over end to crack hard against her skull. Without Aura she'd have been dead then and there, as it was the world popped in a brilliant smattering of starry impressions and throbbing pressure.

She must've passed out for a moment there, just a moment of gut-wrenching dislocation. Staggering back on her feet one second, then the next finding herself sitting on her rump staring up through a blood gummed eyelid at the hulking menace against all things decent looming above her. A swollen blister of raw angry aggression that she could taste in the coppery scent of it's musk, the threat of its fragrance almost enough to leave her gagging.

Instead she spit at its paws defiantly, hands grasping for weapons fallen just out of reach.

If she was gonna get cored by some freak of nature Beowolf, Vernal certainly wouldn't give it the pleasure of enjoying itself, of thinking she was afraid. She was, of course, but she'd throw herself to far worse than this rather than show it.

Luck, as it would have it, saw that she wouldn't have to put that resolve to the test. A flicker of sudden fluid motion capturing the bandit's eye as she stared down her would-be killer, and just happened to get a peek over its shoulder at the exact right moment. A curious mismatch of color she'd only noted by chance, and even then...

Overhead, a veritable giant all sculpted muscle and killing intent slipped from the shadowed depths of the tree tops with all the unerring grace of the jungle feline predators rumored to dwell in the depths of Remnant's jungles. Stripped to the waist as he had been when she'd last laid eyes on him, skin the pallid color of pure white snow dulled and obscured behind strategically applied layers of grime, dirt, and tree scum.

Despite his size, if not for the way his onyx black eyes caught what glimmers of spare sunlight showed through the thick foliage she still might've missed him if she blinked. So utterly silent was he that even the Alpha knew nothing of him, or the similarly glare-dulled knife he carried, until it was far too late...

It wasn't his knife, if one could call the chunk of wickedly sharpened steel alloy the length of her forearm a 'knife'. That particular piece was currently residing in Vernal's own tent, carefully wrapped and stored after the last time someone tried to play around and lost a few appendages as a result. This example was smaller, and more familiar.

Shay D. Mann had been the unlucky sod set to head up watch duty when the Raven Guard had slipped captivity, so it only made sense his knife would be in Praeto's hands. An impressive piece, lovingly cared for if only to give it a shine the vain sleazeball could admire himself in, though little more than a toothpick in the giant's spade sized hands.

Didn't stop the edge from sinking deep into the side of the freakish Alpha's neck. The inertia of the fall and the so-called superhuman's own strength rending the knife down in a perfect crescent, tearing out most of the bloody bastard's throat and then some. It's malformed head snapping and spitting thick ropes of steaming gore, somehow still connected to the neck by only the barest edging of muscle and sinew.

Showy, and damned brutal in execution...Vernal was rendered stunned in one adrenaline fueled glimpse before she wisely scrambled out of the killing field. Not because she was scared, hell no, but because she could appreciate what had just happened.

Separating Grimmflesh wasn't as easy as the star-struck fans in the Kingdoms cared to believe. Requiring not just a razor fine edge, but technique and a rather liberal dose of (usually) Aura assisted strength in bursts to pull off even with normal Grimm.

This thing was beyond normal in just about every sense of being...and it was still miraculously, horribly, somehow standing to continue the fight. The Raven Guard by contrast narrowed his eyes at the gore covered weapon he now carried, scenting the inevitable caustic backlash that Vernal had seen on her own steel...

Reeling from what should have been a mortal wound, the Beowolf swung and snapped at anything and everything that moved with little effect in its frenzy. Raaf by contrast was focus incarnate, his bulky frame gracefully weaving with the easy purpose of reflexes honed to nigh on perfection as he maneuvered through the flurry of manic swipes without the barest shred of hesitation.

Each attack capable of ending the fight there and then with even a glancing blow, and more than one was subsequently dodged neatly at the last possible instant. Every step he stole in return drawing him closer to the beast in question, stabbing and swiping with the stolen smoldering knife whenever the opportunity presented itself. Great rents opening in the Beowolf's hide despite the dulled edge until finally it gave way down the middle with a keening wail of abused metal.

Overextended and caught out, the black haired youth's head snapped back with a hearty crack courtesy of a hateful shoulder check, shattering cartilage in the giving. A spray of vivid red not so dissimilar from the creature's own painting his thin features. Again the lack of Aura stuck out, the lack of defense...

Any sane fighter would have retreated in that moment, any sane Hunter would have gained ground and reevaluated their position, to stay at range with something like this...but no, Raaf did none of those things.

Rather than fall back as she'd wholly expected, he pressed in further despite what should've been one hell of a concussion slowing him down. Scarcely avoiding the grasping claw that tore a quartet of deep jagged grooves into the thick meat of his shoulder. Streamers of flesh and wads of scapping blood trailing behind to embrace the shadows.

An inconvenience, worth nothing more than a strangled hiss of escaping air as thick arms reached up and snatched hold of the sole remaining claw. Wrestling it into a tight hold behind the Grimm's back with no small amount of effort. Buckling more than a few of the limbs' bones in the process for all it mattered, and not all of them the creature's own.

Jinking side to side, the beast's back was slowly, inexorably forced into an arch. Hind legs swiftly kicked out from under it to scrabble in an attempts to deny it any leverage.

Still, effort to do even that much must've been immense, and it showed. Muscles near the size of Vernal's head, from enlarged deltoids to slab-like biceps, all straining in their attempts to keep the monster in place and contained for even a moment longer.

A marvel in and of itself given the beast's size, made all the more incredible when one considered the acidic drips of blood from the throat wound burning across exposed layers of pale skin leaving vivid red lesions . The young man bearing what was almost certainly blinding pain with bared teeth and a few growls...no...not growls, words.

"T-The...head!" A low voice intoned amidst the strain, far lower than any voice had any right to be yet somehow youthful all at once. One devoted to shadowed whispers and unused to extended conversation, especially in a situation like this. "Take...Take the...ah...head! Your _..._ _ **rrgh**_ _!_ Your _weapon_... _!?_ "

The Alpha bucked and writhed cutting the warrior off, his captive still standing even now with well over half its neck severed. Its skin callusing over swiftly in steaming runnels that bubbled wetly with every frenzied roar the beast let loose. Drowning its opponent's next words and rattling Vernal's skull painfully.

It was insanity, all of it! Madness beyond most anything the young woman had ever been taught to expect...her body wouldn't move. Paralyzed, unable to act despite her best attempts to...to what? To fight? To flee? She wasn't quite sure, all she knew was she had to do something or she would die here, _that_ much was a fact.

She had to stand, if only...

 _ **(-..."Vernal! Act now, before the Daemon rallies! Move swiftly!"...-)**_

The words, Praeto's words she knew instinctively, stabbed into Vernal's consciousness with all the sharp abruptness of a bad hangover. Sending her staggering almost to her knees...

Alien sensations and images played out in the guise of a splitting headache that sent a trickle of blood trailing idly from one nostril. Her whole body feeling numb and out of place, disjointed.

 _'Wha...I...I...fight, must **fight**...'_

For a disorienting instant it was she who wrestled the Alpha's snapping jaws centimeters her face, close enough to feel the acidic burn of its saliva splashing across on her cheeks. Her broad gene-forged musculature, the gifts of the Chapter, straining against it's unnatural endurance, her hands feeling the crunch of bone beneath their fingertips. The heady chemical aroma of sweat and bestial musk stinging every labored breath, heartbeat...no, _heartbeats_ thundering louder and louder.

Echoing to the beat of a phrase repeated again and again seemingly without end or context...

 _'...Victorus Aut Mortis...Victorus Aut Mortis..._ _ **VICTORUS AUT MORTIS.**_ _..!'_

And then without warning Vernal was herself once more, the dislocation fading swiftly in a renewed rush of adrenaline and Aura beyond anything she'd ever felt before. Fire coursing trails down her veins, foreign purpose setting her rolling to scoop up the closest of the fallen gun-blades. A fresh Dust cell magazine warming to near scalding degrees beneath fingertips the mortal was only dimly aware of. Her focus fully intent on sweeping the dual barreled weapon about in a broad knifing arc of fiery brilliance.

Then and only then did things in the glade truly fall silent.

No more strained grunts, no more rumbling growls, even the woods themselves had gone quiet for the few heartbeats it took for the misshapen skull to thud heavily against the ground. Dissolving moments later in a coppery crimson mist that stained the leaves red before even that boiled away to nothing, along with most of the tree scum it had come into contact with.

No surprise, even the monster's death had been atypical, but Vernal couldn't bring herself focus on that.

Rather she had more pressing things to consider, such as the towering seven and something foot pale giant standing before her. Eyes lacking in any trace of white staring back at her intently, or she thought they were, she found it was impossible to be sure in the dark. Especially given the thick mask of blood, heavy discolored bruising, and matted ink dark hair.

That shoulder would have to be looked at too, before he...before he...!? The cuts across his shoulder, all of his wounds had ceased bleeding, with the exception of his nose and the hastily treated hole in his side from the Lancer days earlier. The stitches torn and would need to be replaced but even that slow trickle was visibly slowing. Burns already scabbing as though they were days old rather than wounds inflicted in the last few minutes.

Injuries healing swiftly just like the creature, or similar enough to be a concern. Vernal noted it all, filing it away for later consideration.

Anyone else would've been on the ground, half dead if they'd taken half the damage she'd seen the Raven Guard sustain. Again the young man defied her expectations, and she was swiftly growing tired of it.

"Warp-spawned thing!" Raaf spat upon the ground and kicked at where the abomination had dissolved, sending up a plume of dead leaves. A hateful grimace twisting what was left of his visible sallow features with innate fury and perhaps the tiniest flicker of concern. "That Xenos, the Grimm...it acted almost as though...but no, it can't have been...!?"

"Can't have been what?"

He bit his tongue and adopted a guarded expression, seeming to remember he wasn't alone. The female slowly if unsteadily rising to her feet and wiping at her bloodied brow, dropping her steaming gun in the process which buried itself in the ground at her feet.

"Well c'mon? Xenos, Warp, seemed to be on a roll for a second there, Big Guy. Don't shut up on my account."

"Such is none of your concern, Mortal." He said, a hair too swiftly than he'd perhaps intended. Basically all but shouting out that it indeed _was_ her concern, he just didn't feel the need to clarify or explain. Raven did that too sometimes... "I...Apologies. It was...Vernal, yes? You...You reacted well in the moment, swift and efficient. Not many can say the same in the face of such."

 _'Again with that 'Mortals' talk, then...'_

Still it felt nice to be complimented, whatever or whoever the source. Then her frown deepened even further, her eyes finding the giant's bare arms and then traveling inexorably to her own...

 _'What was that feeling back there? What did he...!?'_

Less obviously dangerous than the Grimm and yet more so because of it. Still armed with a knife he clearly knew how to use, standing somewhat awkwardly as though unsure of exactly what to do or what else say. His pupil-less eyes boring into her in an perusing way that again reminded her somewhat of Raven herself.

In a way it seemed as though he could read the very heart of her, discern her every thought and action...she hated that.

Maybe it was the name, yeah probably. Raven...Raven Guard...it was all crazy, just the sort of thing her Mentor enjoyed in moderation, and Vernal...

Well, she had her outlets, of course. Oversized freaks of nature both Grimm and otherwise hadn't quite made it onto that exclusive list.

"Ah, so you've discarded your weapon. That's good...very good. I didn't wish to have to harm...!?"

Fortunately for Vernal, even if he could somehow get in side her head or pick her apart, he still wasn't quite able to react fast enough to stop what happened next. Even if his body came damned close on reflex alone.

The minuscule holdout pistol Vernal had stashed in the back of her waistband already snapping into her hand and firing with a booming _*CRACK*_ rapport by the time his muscled bulk scrambled to dodge on reflex. The bullet impacting against his shoulder rather than center mass as she'd hoped.

If it had been regular ammo he would've been able to retaliate despite the injury, Vernal could see it in the way he moved before the slug's impact had even struck home.

Raaf, if given the freedom, would've snapped her neck from her shoulders _looooong_ before she herself could've gotten off another shot.

 _Again_ , it was fortunate that the ammo she utilized wasn't regular by any degree. Dust tipped stun rounds designed to tag and apply their myriad effects upon contact. Expensive stuff meant for warding off Grimm and large animals without directly killing them in the process.

Expensive as all hell, but oh so worth it...thank you Atlas R&D.

The first bullet sent Praeto's bulked body into spasms, muscles rebelling under their own weight and bearing him to one juddering knee. The second and the third saw him toppling onto his back, electricity visibly coursing burning pathways down his nerve endings on convulsive spasms.

The rest...the whole clip really, was simply for the fun of it. No harm in being careful after all.

Besides, it fun to watch the big guy squirm, regardless of...

* * *

 **(Present)**

"...and casualties? Any losses?"

Vernal snapped back from the deliciously vindictive image of Raaf's body spasming the ground at her feet to find Raven staring at her intently. Obviously noticing her moment's distraction, if choosing not to make comment.

"Nothing too serious." She replied hurriedly with an attempt at a shrug and a wicked grin to hid the discomfort, fingering the light bandage wrapped about her forehead, the only remains of the fight the previous night. "Shay's missing a few extra teeth he didn't need and I don't envy the headache, but he'll live." The Bandit bit her lip, hesitating a moment, brows narrowing despite her best efforts. "We got lucky, Boss. This Praeto's getting tougher to handle by the day."

Wasn't that the truth? If that display in the forest was any indication, the so-called ' _Raven Guard'_ knew when to wait for his moment, and exactly how to make it a reality when it came.

How he'd moved, the way he'd wrestled that Alpha-thing back and held it in place...a human, even a Huntsman or Huntress, probably would've snapped under even a quarter of the effort involved.

All without Aura...she wasn't sure how she could be so certain of that fact, but she was. Implicitly so.

"You don't believe keeping him here in camp is worth the risks?" Raven leaned forward intently, cocking her head as she met the gaze of her favorite Lieutenant. "Never be afraid to share your thoughts and misgivings with me, at least when we're alone like this, Vernal. I value that honesty, that trust we share, you know that."

The bandit quickly lowered her head to hide the crimson spreading across her cheeks, feeling much the same in that regard but not daring to show it. Raven valued her strength as well, her resolve...it was why she held her Leader's confidence above all others. Why she knew was privy to her greatest secret, the true power she possessed that could leave bot Council Member and Hunter groveling at her feet if she so desired...

Of course there were caveats to this, one of which was to tell the truth. In all things...trust had to be earned after all.

"Four attempts in half as many days, and this last time the bastard actually slipped Camp without the sentries being any the wiser, with a weapon." If he'd actually thought to turn it on his captors who knew what could've transpired. "It's got the others nervous, and wondering..."

"Wondering why I bother to keep him around?"

"Wondering if you're actually starting to believe him." Vernal hesitated, knowing she tread upon dangerous ground. "You...don't really buy into all the things he's selling, do you?"

Vernal had first dragged Raaf, trussed up like a swine for slaughter, before this very woman in this very space only a few feet from where they sat now enjoying tea. It had all been rather surreal, and Raven being Raven had barraged him with question after question from behind her Nevermore mask.

Sometimes blending her queries before he'd even finished answering the previous round. Repetition after curve ball, questions to define who he was mixed with inquiry of exactly where he'd come from.

And my the tales he'd spun...

"That tripe about how him being some kind of gene forged superman, _"Fighting through endless conflict across thousands of worlds in defense of mankind". His_ words, not mine."

War raging across a burning galaxy bereft of hope...such a positive image.

To the point that peace was practically a foreign concept to the young man going by how he'd stared dumbstruck at the pair when Remnant's own status had come up. He'd settled back of course once he'd had Grimm explained to him, nodding as though the idea of a world spanning scourge against sentient life was nothing special.

And it really wasn't, not with _Xenos_ aliens and the sorts of threats he named off like candy brands in a store...all beings he fought in the name of the ' _Emperor of Mankind'_ , a more pretentious title Vernal had never heard.

What kind of person could reasonably get up in the morning and legitimately consider themselves the Overlord of an entire species, whether they'd heard mention of him or not? The very idea of it was ridiculous and vain in the extreme, though Raaf had appeared as though he were actively trying to murder her via thought when she'd commented as such. Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like prayer and condemnation both...

As if that made much sense, was the Emperor a real-live person or some abstract god? Another question he'd deigned not to answer directly when asked...one he hadn't budged on despite Raven's best efforts to cajole him otherwise.

"Oh, and on that fun note. How can we possibly forget this whole galaxy spanning Empire nonsense..."

"Imperium." Raven said simply, throwing Vernal off track.

"Huh?"

"Raaf named it ' _Imperium_ ', not ' _Empire_ ', a bit of subtle difference in scope and definition. And yes, it sounds all rather fanciful when you put it that way, doesn't it?" Her brow creased, the worry lines deepening a fraction. "Or maybe not. Were you aware some of our oldest historical records suggest a version of myth that has mankind descending on this world from the stars themselves, the 'remnants of some far gone era', long lost and long forgotten."

"Hmm, 'Remnants'? That supposed to be where the name came from? Neat." Vernal chuckled, tapping at her cup with a dainty finger. Never much for the whole tea drinking thing, despite the Matron's best efforts. "But doesn't another one of those theories say the first humans crawled out of Dust runoff at some point or another, saw the world was empty and got busy fixing that?" She added, lewd hand gesture drawing a smirk from Raven, though not for long.

"And if we were rising from the dust...rather than simply born from Dust?"

"Whoa...you really do believe him, don't you? Or you want to."

She was really trying, seriously wanting Vernal to consider that insanity as potentially more than just the ravings of some overly large Faunus-throwback. Weird science experiment gone wrong, birth abnormality, a type of Semblance...all were far more reasonable explanations, which was saying something. When the alternative...

"Think for a moment. Imagine...Humanity holding sway over the very stars themselves, commanding entire worlds, and yet here we are unable to even comprehend setting foot off Remnant's surface." The Bandit Chief certainly was, gazing at her stacks of scrolls and books wistfully. "Truthfully, I almost feel bad for our wayward little soldier. Stuck here with primitives."

"Uh-huh, ' _primitives_ '...Do you really want me to clue the rest of the Tribe in on that?" Raven seemed to find the idea rather amusing by her smirk, Vernal less so... "I'm serious, Raven! We've already got our hands on all the gear he had on him, even think I might have a few buyers lined up to place opening bids on some of that weird...what'd he call it? _Kraken_ ammo?"

More than a few, especially once she'd leaked a video of exactly what one of those hefty shells had done to the intended target, and the wall behind it, and the rock behind that. Sure enough that little display had had the bids pouring in from all over from enterprising eyes across Remnant.

From the more unsavory among the White Fang, to even a few names Vernal knew for a fact belonged to some higher-ups in Atlas. Big players, big wallets...almost enough to make the vivid bruise she'd earned firing that damned monster of a rifle worth it, the recoil almost busting her shoulder Aura be damned.

Now if they could just figure out how the damned things worked so they could keep an advantage for themselves, cause it certainly wasn't any Dust based formula from what the gunsmiths could fathom.

The 'How' of it...well, Raaf proving even _less_ than forthcoming in that regard. If the petulant lump even knew himself.

In fact, they were pretty certain that none of the prisoner's effects utilized _Nature's Wrath_ in any way shape or form. The mammoth cycle's tank full of some foul smelling slurry that stung the eyes and made everyone around feel lightheaded after only a few breaths.

"And that's not even counting the salvage price we'll get off the bike, or maybe we just hold onto it and all the rest for ourselves. But this, keeping the insane giant around to cause trouble down the road...it's risky, Raven. We don't do _'risky',_ you said that yourself."

"Throwing my own words back at me now, are you? Good, you're learning." The feared Bandit Chief of Anima favored her Second with a small smile over her teacup. "Yes, keeping Praeto around is a risk, but it can also prove to be a worthwhile investment if we play our cards right."

"Excuse me?" The Tanned woman cocked her head, lowering her own beverage back to the table abruptly. "Sorry, I don't follow."

"Come now, Vernal, you're cleverer than that. By his own admission we know our ' _Astartes'..."_ she sampled the unfamiliar word carefully with the barest hints of a smile, the title Praeto had used to describe warriors of his ilk, "...managed to survive several hours in the midst of some of the harshest recorded Grimm activity we've ever seen. Without Aura, all alone, in a world he doesn't know or truly understand because how could he?"

Her companion wasn't quite so sure, the so-called ' _Raven Guard_ ' at least understanding one of the more basic tenets of life on Remnant well enough without expressly being told. _'If it was Grimm, you killed it...preferably before it killed you.'_

And given all they didn't know about him, who was to say just how much Praeto really knew? What was stopping him from thinking Kingdom life more preferable to the Tribe's standard? Maybe he was just insane, it didn't matter in the end.

Raaf Praeto was a soldier and a killer. They were thieves, survivors...and killers. _'Okay, maybe she has a tiny point, but still...'_ She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but for a moment Vernal thought she saw Raven's free hand reach for the sword lying by her side. Her eyes darting about as though searching the small space for signs of...something, anything.

Then she felt it too, the nagging feeling that she was being watched, some instinct tingling at the back of her skull.

"Raven, I...?"

"He is dangerous true, but he can also be incredibly useful to the Tribe if he chose to be so. A soldier adrift." The former Huntress shook her head, a signal if the younger partner had ever seen one. There was no one watching, there'd never been, but the feeling persisted even so... "In return, we can offer...perspective, and he can illuminate us in turn. The things he might teach us."

"That's still a might big ' _if'."_ Vernal shot back pointedly, wanting to know exactly what her Lead was driving at if only to quell her own discomfort. There wasn't exactly much room for error... "And what's the plan if he doesn't go for it? Beowolves? Cause I know one already took a crack at him and failed, big time."

With her help of course, but if the situation had been even a smidge different...

"We can keep that in mind, I'm sure they'd appreciate another attempt." Raven said dismissively, leaving none in doubt of the veracity of the statement, Vernal least of all. "But only as a last resort. It always pays to have a chip to bargain with, and a 'gene forged soldier' might prove quite valuable in the days ahead." Going by the prevailing rumors flooding the CCT waves, there was no doubt that much was true. "Of course this is all hypothetical, _if_ you fail to turn him."

"Me?" The Lieutenant blanched, "How am I supposed to convince the big lug? Best he knows I'm the one that keeps shoving his face in the dirt and locking him up. Not exactly off to a great start, especially if we want him friendly."

"Oh I don't know. Some men prefer that sort of thing, or so I've heard." That was a joke, right? That had to be a joke? "He showed himself to aid you in a crisis, willingly if I'm certain reluctantly. The man understands he needs us, even if he doesn't yet realize why. I'm certain you'll figure something out from there. You've never failed me before."

In the face of that, how else could Vernal answer. It almost wasn't fair...scratch that, it most definitely wasn't.

"And I won't start now." She replied with a short nod, getting to her feet and snapping off an unnecessary and frankly played up salute. Bring a fist home across her heart, a way she'd learned from Raven herself. "He'll come around, one way or another."

"Of that I have no doubt."

She might not, but as Vernal walked from the tent and into the noonday sunlight she couldn't help but bear a few of her own. The worst of them chipping away at her confidence, especially once she weighed the small bleached avian skull totem in her palm. Bleary eyes heavy from exhaustion inexorably drawn to the cage where the talisman's owner had languished since last night under heavy watch, with orders to get rough next time he tried anything funny.

The 'perfect recruit'...huh? What was Raven thinking?

 _'C'mon, just treat him like any other new blood to the Tribe.'_

A new blood that had fallen through a hole in space-time and has spent a lifetime making war on creatures she still shuddered to imagine, and that was just from a few vague descriptions forced from reluctant lips. Tales of hulking green brutes, howling madmen, ravenous alien monstrosities capable of devouring whole worlds in no time at all...

 _'Yeah sure...What could possibly go wrong?'_

* * *

 _'...Everything...!?'_

Raaf Praeto's jaw tensed with an inaudible groan forced through clenched teeth. Muscles drawn back across thin cheekbones in something approximating a pained grimace, a slight tremor rippling across his broad shoulders.

Such were the only outward signs of discomfort he would dare allow to show before those who thought themselves his captors, and even these vanished swiftly seconds later. Crushed by sheer dint of willpower and the Chapter's careful conditioning into the stoic face of one raised to the hallowed ranks of the Astartes.

Few of those set to watch him noticed, those that had believing it to be a result of the wounds still showing vivid across his frame. Their silent sympathy at the dirtied dressings warring with subtle fear...fear of the unknown...fear of Raaf himself...fear of failing in the eyes of Branwen as others had.

Understandable, but they were wrong...oh so wrong, and their prisoner would have infinitely preferred the lie.

His injuries sustained in battle no longer plagued him unduly, serious as they were. The blessed gifts wrought within his transhuman flesh already hard at work repairing the worst of the damage. The jagged lacerations caused by that Xenos Hell-Beast, cuts that would have killed or crippled an un-augmented mortal, had already closed and begun to knit. Puckered tender scar tissue the only indication they'd ever been there to begin with, fading to insignificance just like the creature that had inflicted them...

 _'All alone, the whispers...so loud...Throne, how can I...!?'_

No, what afflicted the Scout Marine was not simply a bone deep physical pain but something deeper. Something far more insidious, something dwelling within the Raven Guard yet not...

Encircled by iron on all sides, behind closed eyelids and conditioned willpower, Raaf still found his consciousness adrift in a floating sea of emotion and impulse. Shivering at the biting chill of hoarfrost forming near invisibly on pale skin as his ' _gifts_ ' manifested themselves, pushing his mind out from beyond his body.

Weariness and other petty physical burdens lifted, the Astartes drifted forth on aetheric tides through the bars and out into the camp proper, at once everywhere and nowhere. In a way he was both still kneeling in a rusting enclosure that still oozed with the imprints of dread felt by past inhabitants, yet skirting the makeshift walls and the unprotected windows into the thoughts of those who walked them all at once.

The souls of these and the rest of his captors moving about their business, woefully unaware of his presence, showed as beacons of individuality in this strange planar-scape. Unique, colored by emotion and thought, memories and passions...so loud...so open...

Many he perceived were focused in some shape or fashion on the ever-shifting morass taking place where there should've been naught but clear sky. The Sun beating down, tinted a sickly haze that struggled to make itself felt, to reassert some sense of normality.

Wariness stained their spirits, hanging imperceptibly upon their hearts like some heavy shroud. Then he was in the tents, flitting among sleeping individuals from last night's Watch, their dreams tiny flickers of light and impression...unreadable as of yet, and often fraught by dark tendrils of stress and strain that Raaf experienced in moments of foreign sensation and emotional expression.

And he wasn't alone in this, no...never alone.

Voices without voices without voices...pervasive whispers that dogged his progress towards the brightest of the soul-lights in this place. One familiar, defiant and crass but bearing its own sense of purpose linked to the other, a sense of commitment and loyalty that was unexpected in a den such as this. The other was nigh on blinding, stern and distant despite the near overwhelming weight of its presence.

However there was something strange, something not wholly singular in its power, two distinct impressions...one linked to the now, and another leeching off it, ancient and potent...Raaf needed to know more. They discussed him, had sensed his awkward intrusion in their own way, yet still debated his future as if he were truly theirs...

Praeto was a Scout, he who was responsible for seeing through the lies and falsehoods to find the paths ahead. He must know more, dive deeper, pierce the veils of unknowing minds and **_sAMplE ThEse cUriOuS seNsaTIons mORe DeEpLy, To gORgE UpoN FeaR aNd...!?_**

" _No_!"

Others wiser and more learned had warned Raaf away from such actions, from delving too deeply and lingering too long in the ether.

Such inclinations were not his own, but the whims of creatures and beings drawn by his vulnerable presence. Beasts of malicious intent such as the blood-craving entity that had possessed the Beowolf, excited by their proximity to this rift in the Warp, to the ' _Cataclysm_ ' as many in the Camp had started referring to it.

Even that name was their doing in a way, the psychic impressions of a consciousness beyond the scale of mere mortals and well beyond Raaf's meager practice, influencing and declaring itself without remorse. He had to take care...

Epistolary Adivarius had been quite clear at the outset of the Amaranth Prime, pulling the young Scout aside from his Squad and Honored Sergeant Corbell in the days before the drop that would see them to the surface ahead of the rest of the Company, ostensibly to aid the Deathwatch in the capture or more likely elimination of a confirmed Heretic Astartes.

 _'Oh how wrong they had been...'_

Despite the desperate insanity of the events that followed, Raaf still found he could envision that meeting clearly enough. The day his whole world changed yet again for a second time.

The Veteran Battle Psyker looming above the lightly armored Neophyte, bedecked in the colors and trappings of the Librarius. The crystalline edges of the Psychic hood he bore radiating a sense of subtle if potent force, casting his somber warp-scarred features into terrifying relief as he expressed his unbending opinions to the younger Astartes in a reed thin whisper. Shadows coalescing about his form, unwilling to part with his form, attempting to drag the Librarian back into their depths.

Raaf's 'gifts' were strong indeed but untested, woefully so. Somehow buried despite the rigorous testing of both Apothecary and Librarian, only recently coming to the notice of the Chapter's higher echelons after a string of curious incidents over the course of his service, a thing suspected and now painfully confirmed.

If the were the situation any less dire he'd have been sequestered from his Brothers of the Scout Company seen back to _Deliverance_ immediately for renewed tests of fortitude and purity, but such were the times that every Battle Brother was needed now more so than perhaps ever before since the times of the Great Heresy. Raaf was a leader among his brothers, to pull him from an operation of such magnitude...

"I...I am the Emperor's Angel as cast in shadow. Pure...Untainted..."

It was slow, halting at first as Raaf sought to overcome the foreign predatory whispers tugging at the borders of his mind, but soon the measured words of the Litany or Fortitude Adivarius had shared with him began to take shape. Mental shields forming stone by stone against the endless horrors...

"Though I walk a path thinned by temptation and beset by deceit, I leave no trace. My steps gone unseen by the Daemon without, unburdened by the weakness within..."

Such words steeled his mind, focused it, guided his consciousness back from the fraying path he had trodden. Reminding him of who he was, of _what_ he was. No Daemon would hold dominion over his soul, not while his spirit held sway...

"...Thus might the Ravenlord walk with me in conflict, watch over me in death, lending me his strength in the moments between. In darkness, my Soul stands girded against folly. In darkness, my Soul stands silent before the...!?"

A harsh ringing sound threatened to rid him of his faltering focus, a sensation not of his mind but of the outside, just beyond the confines of the cage his coil inhabited...

Flinty eyes snapping open to partake of a wide thick set fellow with the broad shoulders and rotund physique of one formerly used to heavy labor but gone swiftly to pasture, an unspoken leader among those set to guard him, standing only a meter or two distant.

The fat of his pudgy expression splitting into a sneering grin further disfigured by the bare of the cage...and painted by Raaf's own simmering fury.

Patience be damned, his soul _ached_. An ocean's pressure bearing down upon him, cast by the roiling hell-space above.

"What's that tripe yer' mutterin' now, Big Guy?" The jowly faced lump of muscle peered in closer, rapping the bars again with his pipe in a way he must've vaguely perceived as intimidating. Seeming so much like an Ork that it was difficult not to dispatch him then and there. "C'mon now!? Speak up if ya got somethin' to say! Lookin' even paler an' usual!"

He made to raise the makeshift club again, hesitating this time mid swing when Raaf caught hold of his perceptions. Delivering a glare so laden with the contained violent emotion that the Astartes had kept buried throughout the struggle of moments past that the other man's will simply had no means to defend against it, let alone understand.

But he could certainly feel it...

In that long moment the Ork-Man was quite sure, in his own dim-witted fashion, that the Pale Giant in his mercy was allowing him the opportunity to continue living. How simple it would be for the Astartes, his strength rising by the day, to tear through such flimsy barriers and get at the pitiful Human beyond.

This frightened him, as it no doubt should.

And Raaf experienced the other man's terror, terror of he who should be his prisoner, in that long pausing on every conceivable level.

Eyes the color of ink, enhanced by the _Occulobe_ implant, picked out the brief involuntary shudder of muscle tissues about the right orbital and upper jawline with such focus as to see the nerve bundles dancing. The _Lyman's Ear_ filtering out the inane minutia of the Camp's day to day interactions, honing in on the noticeable uptick in the cretin's straining heartbeat while his _Neuroglottis_ sampled the sour scent of sweat thick with adrenal pheromones and proteins mixed with some local narcotic.

Overall the standard cocktail of human physical stress response, and all of this was discounting the subtler cues the Scout could draw upon. A dozen impressions of half formed ideas and instinctive responses swam the murky surfaces of a mind jostled open by fear, most imaginative and all would have aided his jailer little.

His base hidden desires, imprints of his secrets and shames, the ignoble reason why he had come crawling to the Branwen Clan and the leader he idolized and wanted in equal measure...Raaf knew them all in a rush of primal near all-consuming fury.

The urge to snap into action and show this mortal his error written in a pool of his own...

Raaf bit upon such compulsions quite literally, incisors tearing into the soft meet of his cheek lining and allowing the metallic scent of oxygen rich blood to fill his keen senses.

A poor distraction, but enough to remind him of the true purpose behind the litanies impressed into his mind when the truth behind a storied young Scout's 'hunches' became a matter of suspicion and concern.

His Will once more inviolate, impervious to the fell presence of any denizens that might seek to influence him unduly. All of it accomplished in the time it took the bandit to recoil at the crimson tracks forming a channel from the Atartes' nostril and mouth, black eyes devoid of emotion enough to drive him backwards a few paces more in the guise of some weak swaggering gait that none believed.

Of that Raaf was sure of as well, though he wished he did not...he'd always had a knack for such things, finding the truths behind falsehoods.

It was why he was so curious about this band of scum, or more specifically the women at its head. Vernal knew nothing, or at least was not of a mind with her Master, he knew that much after last night.

 _'...Then why did I return?'_

He wasn't quite certain, it would have been so simple to abandon Vernal to the predations of that Daemon-thing. Logical even in the face of indignities inflicted, yet the desciscion to reveal himself had come in an instant.

In violation of the patience and pragmatism that the Chapter espoused. A flicker of insight, but was it his own or another's?

"Feh...damn freak show, ain't he!?" The boorish man said, his laugh forced as were that of his fellows as they returned to their games in silence broken only by the occasional awkward attempts at levity. "Don't know what the Boss is thinkin' keepin' him here. If it were me in charge, I'd already...!"

Harsh words and harsher thoughts, but poignant in their cruelty. What did this Raven Branwen wish of him? What was she hoping to gain by his continued presence?

Was he the some pawn of some scheme, dancing to a tune? Were mortal concerns the only motivation? The tricks of the Archenemy ever insidious, that much was known. But Vernal, or woman who bore the name at any rate...

She had faced a beast clearly derived of Chaos' get, feeling nothing but disgust at it's presence and hatred as any soul loyal to common decency would in the face of such blatant evil. Yet there was darkness there as well, greed and lesser cruelty inherent of a life spent under heel, but a sense of honor and loyalty as well. An enigma, one he could only describe as the mortal conscience, but that it existed at all was a sign.

Her Mistress as well, where did she fall? The Branwen's mind strangely barred to Raaf's clumsy early attempts to maintain subtly if separate from the seeds of worry and darker impulses seeding the camp at large. There were the obvious impressions born of a lifetime, regret, pride, fear in abundance...

Should he act more overtly in the pursuit of further knowledge, wielding his infantile gift's as hammer rather than blade? Would that draw the attentions of things better left undisturbed, were such risks worth it? How would an experienced Brother proceed?

The possibilities were many, so many questions, and while he bore some idea Raaf had to wonder...but later.

His whispered words faded to background clamor, unimportant as once more he resumed his meditations. Drawing upon those virtues that gave him strength,duty to the Imperium, a patience in all things, righteous purpose...

For now it was all the Scout could do to stay afloat in the maelstrom. Kneeling with palms pressed flat to his eyes as dark whispers and darker intentions sought to bear him under their sway, warded off by little more than tenacity and stubborn denial.

The pain of such defiance immense, leaving him disjointed and off balanced. His very Soul feeling as though it were being slowly pressed into shape bone while his brain steamed inside his skull...but he would not submit upon the surface of a world beset by demons and bereft of the Emperor's dominion.

He _could_ not!

It was said an Astartes knew no fear, but as the Raven Guard knelt in his cage, the thought of the damnation surrounding him as surely as those steel bars, he felt some small flicker of something that might've been trepidation.

The knowledge that he could hide all he like, and the monsters in the sky, those Daemons of the Warp, would always find him...

"The Shadows keep me, the Shadows keep me, the Shadows keep me, _the Shadows keep me..._!"

* * *

- **END**

* * *

 _ **A/N: And so we get a surprisingly much requested look in on our Raven Guard, took me long enough. Work has been ramping up and I apparently can't seem to write anything under 10k to save my life.**_

 _ **Raaf Praeto, Raven Guard Scout, slayer of Possessed Grimm (Hope that was cool btw, advice writing Daemons is alays appreciated), and latent Psyker coming into his gifts. I'll admit the idea came from Jago Sevatarion, a Psyker who suppressed his powers until he let the dam break. It made him even more of a monster to fight, but it wasn't exactly fun for poor Sevatar. (**_ **The Long Night _by Aaron Dembski-Bowden, mortal servant of the Night Lords, what's not to love?)_**

 _ **As always would love to hear your guy's thoughts, and thanks for all the support this story is getting. - Mojo**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 10 - Sating Appetites-**

* * *

 _ **All power demands sacrifice... and pain. The universe rewards those willing to spill their life's blood for the promise of power.**_

\- Sindri Myr, Alpha Legion Sorceror

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy Infirmary, Vale)**

Lux groggily awoke to a sensation not so dissimilar to what he imagined floating in the void must feel like...without the horrendous death of course.

His body smothered in a soft warmth that had long been absent in the harried months leading up to that final desperate charge on the traitor-held trenches. Not since his earliest days in the Biologis labs in the latter days of his ' _recruitment_ ' had he...had he...!?

 _The frakking forest...That frakking Storm...Those frakking Monsters...!_

Eyes blinking wide and heart thundering with a sudden violent start, he made to bolt upright only to find his body awkwardly unresponsive.

Bared tattooed muscle thick with scarred kill marks and barely remembered gang symbols swam languidly through the air far too slowly than they should've been. Dulled by chemical means via the needle drip linking him to a hanging bag of pale fluid. That seemed wrong, out of place...like he was.

"...ey!? Wo...alright! Cal...own...!" A raised voice, reverberating dully as though far away. A trick of the space? Was he speaking? Mouth was moving...check, though everything sounded weirdly off with his ears still ringing... "...kay! It's okay You're alright...!"

The sterile antiseptic scents and sounds of a Medicae facility all too strikingly familiar with every ragged breath, yet accompanying it by contrast...a spicy floral fragrance that tickled his nerves even through the numbness. Overwhelming pressure bearing the Trooper back down to the bed, drawing his attention, gloved hands, warm...violet eyes like his...golden hair.

Like the doll, no...woman he corrected himself in proper Gothic. The beauty from his dream, the one who'd fallen from the sky on fire. His brow furrowed and he tried to push up, push her back...to understand.

She didn't allow that, Throne she was stronger than she looked. And she looked pretty strong to start. Too strong...

"Dude, calm...ah _whoa_!? Listen for a sec, you weren't hurt bad, but you still shouldn't...hey!?"

A dream, all a bad dream, of course. Lux was still on Cadia, wound up here after an accident maybe? Or had he been wounded during the Battle?

No, that was wrong too. He remembered fighting all too well, could feel the telltale ache in his limbs as though he'd run the length and breadth of the wilds back in basic. And those creatures...

Those things, red eyes like burning coals in the sump pits, the smell of blood and spite on them...spite actually had a scent...you couldn't make that up.

Lux had heard Veterans whispering of encounters with the Archenemy and their 'Daemons'. Never so loud as to draw the attentions of the Commissars but the word spread regardless.

Was that what they'd been? Some trick of the mind cast by the Archenemy?

If so how was he alive? How? _How_? _**How**!?_

 _'Remember your training, ascertain the situation and act...'_ He stilled his breathing, blinking away the harsh stab lights and murmuring one of the litanies instilled into his mind during his 'recruitment'. ' _D_ on't _dwell, don't falter, move forward_...'

This was some medical outpost, a battlefield surgery mayhaps? No, no too clean, not as much screaming...far too calm for that, too isolated.

An actual Medicae Center, with all the bells and whistles...Strange, they would've had to have won the battle to warrant such treatment.

He didn't remember winning much of anything aside from small glories. One very dead Heretic Astartes, enough to earn his way to salvation ten times over by the Priests' reckoning.

What Lux did remember all too well however was the Forest, the Monsters, and...

"There you go, Hot Shot. See, no need to freak out."

The girl was still there, certainly not dressed like any Medicae aide he'd ever seen...though he dearly wished he had. Might've went and gotten himself banged up a bit more in training, more than the usual at any rate...

"This is a safe place. Well, cept for the food but I can't really help that. Big bites, makes it go faster."

"You...You were the one from the woods...the Joy Girl...?"

"Wow, 'Joy Girl' eh? That's a new one. Most go with ''Blondie" and leave it at that." She smirked, presenting a thumbs up that she directed to a rather sizable chest. No complaints there... "Yang Xiao Long, Huntress-In-Training, at your service. I was the one who brought you in. Nurse thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of looking out for you, what with all the craziness going on."

She leaned back, crossing her arms and eyeing his approvingly, and his chest among other bits of him.

"Suppose ya could do worse, some might think it's a _pun_ -ishment." She chuckled, ignoring his nonplussed stare. The joke not exactly translating correctly, a strange slang term perhaps? "Nice ink, by the way."

Hmm? Most folks found those a turn off. A sign of what he had been before.

 _"_ Huh _,_ hard to believe they've got someone better. Heart might just give out." He gave her his best grin, the conversation helping him find his bearings. A natural reaction... "Call me Lux, Joy Girl...and let me say you've gotta be the sweetest sight I've woken up too in a long...long...?"

 _'Huntress..._?'

"Ooh, so close to a half decent line there, buddy. Give ya points for the effort though. Nice to meetcha, Lux." She nodded her head, her blonde hair catching the light in a way that didn't seem possible. But Lux could hardly focus on that. "Um...You doing okay? I've got some water if you need...?"

"I didn't run?"

Things were clearing up, his memory slowly settling back into place alongside an earsplitting headache that had him reaching for his temples. Then the panic set in all over again, startling the both of them.

"The Commissar, the beasts...that wych, she... She must've...! I didn't scarper! I'm no frakking coward! I didn't mean...!"

Lux hadn't run from battle, hadn't abandoned his comrades. It came back, the Psyker stealing away in his mind, a puppet...his actions, her will.

"Easy, easy there. I believe ya if its any consolation." She assured him, passing the Trooper a cup of flat water that vanished in moments down his throat. "Standing up to an Ursa like that, big un- _bearable_ buggers, all in all pretty ballsy move."

Ursa, so that was what that breed was called, a hateful name. One deserving of death, but that slang again left him cringing for some reason.

"Still you lot are pretty lucky the cavalry arrived when it did. Few more minutes and who knows what could've happened? Even with that sweet robot you guys brought along." Her expression was warm, comforting, one of easy smiles and sunny humors behind that smug exterior. "My Sis'll probably be wanting a word or two bout' that by the way. I thought Atlas liked em' big but man! Heh heh, was sure Rubes was gonna faint when she laid eyes on it, should've seen her face." She mock swooned, drawing a weak smile from the Guardsman before he could help herself.

Wait a moment?...

"Grimm?" The reality was settling in, it hadn't been a dream. The Sorcerer, getting swallowed by the Maelstrom, this strange world...

"Yeah, you guys were completely surrounded in the middle of that Storm, bad luck there." Yang nodded, not quite understanding the nature of his confusion. "But seriously, what's the deal with you guys anyway? Get lost on your way for the Festival or something?" She phrased the question as if to tease, her face falling flat a moment later replaced by guilt Lux couldn't quite understand. "Uh...sorry, I shouldn't joke. You guys lost people after all. It's just..."

"What Festival?" The question seemed to catch her off guard for a moment, humor swiftly replaced with worry. "What are you talking about?

"The Vytal Festival? You know, biggest event on the face of Remnant?" Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed tight. "Where'd you say you were from again?"

"Vytal? Kingdoms? Remnant? I don't...?"

"No seriously." Lux faltered at her sudden shift in tone, the momentary flicker of shifting color in her eyes. A trick of the light, it had to be. "Lux, just where are you from anyway?"

"I...Cadia." He couldn't resist those eyes, his sense of unease building by the moment. "I hail from Cadia."

"Oooookay, good. That's good, progress." The 'Huntress' nodded slowly, easing back in her seat and obviously thinking he didn't pick up on it. "Now then, where's Cadia exactly? Somewhere near Vacuo, or...?"

"Vacuo? For Throne's sake it's Cadia, shield world of the Imperium! How could you not...!?" That look of non-comprehension, the one he'd been dreading. It hadn't been a dream, and something was very _very_ wrong. "By the Emperor...frak me." Lux slumped back suddenly feeling more tired than he had before...or ever, chuckling to himself as the strange blonde eyed him nervously.

"So this er...Emperor guy, yeah. You uh...you wouldn't happen to have a number we can call? Would you, let him know we've got you?"

Yang wasn't lying. She really had no idea, no idea at all. No concept of the galaxy spanning Imperium of Man or its divine Leader and Guide...this world...Remnant...

"Oh no." He blinked, suddenly very conscious of the situation, the true weight of horror dawning upon him. "Oh...!"

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Industrial District, Vale - Three Days Later)**

"...gods! Just how much longer we have to put up with these freaks, anyway?"

Claret brought her head slowly up from the midst of silent devotions, regarding at a distance from across the warehouse floor the silvery grey haired youth, Mercury, murmuring conspiratorially to the mint haired female standing beside him with her arms crossed, Emerald.

Both of them children really not much younger than she herself was, but wards nonetheless of the representative the Exiled One had sent to shepherd herself and those few followers she had managed to retrieve to safety in this unfamiliar Remnant, this 'Cinder Fall'.

Both had been charged by their Mistress to watch over their curious guests while she was indisposed. Set to answer their myriad questions, entertain their oddly phrased requests, and make sure none wandered off to cause any sort of disruption to sensitive plans still in motion.

Of course, Lady Fall had only implied this, though the meaning was clear enough in her tone...they were a liability to be discarded swiftly and quietly...

She did not trust Claret and her cohorts, could not understand why her Master was so insistent they be protected even at the risk of possibly revealing herself and her fellows in the offering.

It was not her place to question however, only to act as their shared Benefactor desired, and that desire itself had been made very clear...defiance was not to be tolerated.

 _'The Fall woman does not know her own fortune, to be blessed with commandment from the very lips of a god...'_

"Oh grow up will you?" Mercury's partner hissed back at him vehemently, her crimson orbs darting towards Claret and her companions from the corner of her eye, nervousness hidden under a veneer of starkly feigned indifference. She could not know Claret was listening, her senses honed by the presence inside her, but she suspected...intelligent, observant...fine qualities to cultivate. "Cinder promised she'd be back soon, didn't she? Just go wait outside if you're too scared."

Manipulative as well, she would make a fine follower if properly motivated, however her loyalties were most certainly in question. She was Cinder's creature, no true servant of the Powers motivated by faith or lust for power, no...no her motivations were far more altruistic at least where the Red Witch was concerned.

A show of power perhaps, especially considering she was the least impressed by the band of waif's assembled before her, even more so than her Lady.

Eleven loyal souls including Claret herself...

The leftover detritus of a zealous host that had marched across the burning surface of Cadia numbering in the hundreds of thousands...pitiful when compared to number of Imperial Lapdogs that had survived the Emerald Forest and the monsters within, but they would serve nonetheless.

The Powers had gifted this world's devotees with eleven, and so eleven would have to be enough...at least for now. Eleven, the sacred number of the Lost One...

"C'mon, don't act like that weird chanting isn't freaking you out just a little bit too!" Mercury balked as said chanting faltered, suddenly all too conscious of the eyes upon him, far more eyes than their should've been in some cases. "This...This is just weird, and I don't like the way that Hunchbacked one keeps sizing me up. Or at least I think he is."

Said 'Hunchback' most certainly was, and had the youth known for what reason then it was likely he'd have fled in terror long before now despite the Fall woman's wishes to the contrary.

 _"...Ninety-Eight point Seven-Seven-Eight-Four percent likelihood of full prosthetic replacement below both lateral ligaments, perhaps above. Displayed with negligible loss of fine motor skills and near seamless micro physical display. EXTRAPOLATION: Potential of Dust Substance #R-001 employed within artifice... -_ ** _0101001001101001 01110110 01100101 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111-_**..."

Claret gritted her teeth at the strident monotone delivered through crackling vox-emission, the ceaseless observation giving way to spastic spurts of binaric cant mixed through with something that made her temples throb.

Situated across from her kneeling position, his compacted misshapen form swathed in tattered red robes stained almost black by thick splotches of lubricating oils, unguent gels, and what the young Disciple knew for certain to be blood both human and otherwise, ' _stood_ ' Malach Ro-288, former installed Magos Dominus of the Adeptus Mechanicus...or perhaps even its ignoble predecessor.

Clacking along on a quartet of spindly spider-like appendages to the harsh sound of thumping pistons and hissing pneumatic pumps, the Heretek looked upon this new world world from beneath a voluminous hood that cast much of what remained of the former Magos' face in darkness.

Features indistinguishable but for an octet of small glowing blue lenses spaced about in random clusters that in turn adjusted and focused seemingly at random on whatever caught the ancient cyborg's fancy.

This fancy currently directed towards Mercury Black, or more specifically his legs. Proof of the Magos' skill, Claret would not have been able to pick out the prosthetic otherwise...though he would be the expert.

To her knowledge not even Viridis had been aware of exactly how much of Malach beneath those robes was still human, though Claret suspected very little if any still remained of the body he'd been born with.

His humanity sacrificed on the altar of fervent augmentation and commitment to the fell powers they all served.

What was left of his thoughts, those few glimpses Claret could glean, consisted of little more than scraps of binaric cant and machined processes bare of even the slightest hint of emotion.

Still, the Word Bearer had found Malach a useful tool over the course of the long centuries, the Tech-Traitor's innate talents in weaving the sacred mysteries of the Empyrean with the physical disciplines of the mechanical having seen many a Loyalist cesspit into ruin. Oft times with nary a shot fired as the faithful of the Undying Corpse and the Machine Idol found their precious resources turned against them in worshipful slaughter in celebrations of woeful sentience.

His truest loyalties however were to his work rather than to the Exiled One, but given the wealth of interest he had shown in Remnant's unique technological avenues such as the varied applications of Dust in matters of energy-propellant, medicine, and combat...well, Claret felt he would be able to content himself under her influence...with care.

A shame the same however couldn't be said of all those she had managed to salvage...

"Careful Magos, methinks you may be scaring the poor boy with that talk. Don't you?" A chiding tone shot through with good humor arose from the slender man seated nearest the twitching Heretek, leaned with his back against the shipping container that had been their most recent abode and conveyance as of a few hours before. "We are guests here after all, no need to aggravate our gracious hosts unduly is there?"

Balimund Nave, a walking contradiction if ever Claret had seen one, even among the strange unbelievable things she had witnessed during her time as Viridis' equerry. Clean shaven and athletically built with ebon slicked back hair and olive sun kissed features meticulously groomed despite the grimy battle worn fatigues he wore, soaked through a ruddy brown with dried blood.

A youthful gleam shining in a pair of mismatched eyes, one the vibrant blue of oceans, the other the gleaming golden glow of a star, complete with a roguish smile playing across full lips that was designed to melt bleeding hearts and put minds at ease. Whether this was achieved through surgery or careful rejuvenat treatments was unclear..

Yet despite all this, the Magus knew all too well that this man was far from the highborn socialite he appeared to be.

Exactly how far, Claret admitted she did not know, the man's mind protected from her Psychic perusals by a complex deeply ingrained system of ingenious mental and hypno-employed barriers and neuro-engrams.

The topography of his mental landscape a reworked mire of metaphor and subtle dissembly, making it quite impossible to deride meaning at a casual trace without more thorough methods.

Methods Claret dare not employ, knowing full well the secret traps and snares some chose to levy in defense of their darkest secrets. Her thoughts went to the grubby journal that lay bound to the man's hip by a length of gleaming silver chain, somehow untouched by the same damage that had afflicted his clothing...

Nave was, by his own words, an agitator...a fire starter at home among both the downtrodden masses of the underhives all the way to the heights of a Planetary Governor's court.

The Disciple had no idea where and when he had come into the Exiled One's service. Yet from what she'd heard tell of the man's name...those that could be attributed to him at any rate, were the bywords for corruption and rebellion throughout both the Angelus and Varinius sub-sectors. Responsible for the organization and implementation of cult activity across at least a dozen worlds and the full-scale rebellion of perhaps half that number, not to mention the murder of countless Imperial citizens.

All in service to the cause of tearing down the Imperium of Man and the Rule of the God-Emperor piece by piece, world by world, soul by damned soul...

 _"...tHE cONcerns of MEaT is OF little...* **Pzzt** * consequence, Subject: Balimund Nave. INTENT: I merely seek to admire the subtle wonders of this world's advances."_ Malach Ro-288 snarled through his vox-speaker in some guttural Underhive dialect, the tone breaking up partway before being replaced by the steady cadence of the educated. " _Such workmanship, they are... **exquisite**."_

"Truly?" Nave merely shrugged, finally taking notice of Claret's gaze, or finally deigning to acknowledge it with a nod...such casual arrogance. "I guess I will just have to take your word for it, my fried. Still to use the term 'freaks' is a little harsh given our majority. Ser Zaar, your thoughts on the matter?"

He turned his attentions elsewhere, gently rapping a fist against the container to make himself heard over the low grunting chants echoing from within, benedictions from the rest of Claret's congregation.

Lady Cinder had insisted...no, outright ordered the eight remaining individuals to remain hidden when at all possible.

Whether this was due more to security or to her own sense of decorum Claret could only guess at, her mind shielded somehow by something old and bearing its own sentience, diminished but still vital.

A wellspring of aetheric force not so far removed from her own passenger, the egotistical perhaps one of the Secondborn, the possessed? Was that possible, she displayed none of the signs?

Certain or not, it was difficult not to notice the horrified expressions crossing the two youth's faces at the hulking figure lurching with slow plodding steps from the interior of the hold on bare feet.

Broad slab-like muscle striped with ritual scarring and ink stacked in thick layers across a form nearly seven feet tall, and humanoid in only the loosest sense. One arm overlarge and shot through with spiked cartilage, wreathed further in rusting chains threaded with curved razors that sparked and skittered as they dug grooves into layers of metal decking.

Further signs of aberrant growths from scaled chitin, wriggling veins, and even a bloodshot eye littered what bits of corpse pale skin was visible underneath broken piecemeal flak plating scavenged and modified to fit his silhouette. The markings of at least least three differing regiments of Imperial Guard visible, their previous owners represented in the skull fragments hooked and hanging from a torque about what constituted the Mutant's neck.

Beady violet pinpricks the same shade as that on his chest stared out at Emerald and Mercury from brows coated in mottled weeping cuniforms of curling script that almost appeared to wriggle and shift, stretched more so by a wide mouth filled with far too many teeth that in themselves were far too large.

That he was one of the less afflicted by the Power's more visible blessings lurking within that hold...

"What I's be flappin' bout' callin' names, Clean-Gene?" The mound of flesh rumbled in its gutter slang, the same he'd used to incite his brothers and sisters against the upper levels of Kasr Soliq, insects crawling from the foundations to feast on the corpse above.

Balimund merely shrugged his shoulders dismissively, "Twists be Twists, Zaar, Ain't rollin' like dat'. ' _Ser_ ' be the top speak where I crawl up." He said in a perfect vocal recreation of the Mutant's dialect, even down to the social inflections and accent. Flawlessly done, that roguish smile making a show once more. "Ain't like other Stomps, keepin' boots down. Good noise?"

"You messin' our pulse, Nave! Cuttin' words round and round, sweet speak. We be bleedin', bleedin' raw...!"

He desired a return to his prayers, a true convert at least to the ways of blood and bone which had given him his authority.

The still bleeding marks dripping from more than a few fresh cuts and flayed sections of his free arm foretelling the dangers of repressing such urges in such a small space.

He wanted to kill, to tear the annoying little fop and his familiar words apart and feel the warmth of blood on his hands. The nigh consuming urge to feast upon his flesh, to rip the dermus and plunder the soft tissue within, bones cracking to powder beneath...

But Claret would not allow this. A gentle lash of mental Will across his forebrain enough to curb his attentions from violence, if only for the moment, and remind him of who commanded whom.

"Beggin' pardon, Mistress." He bowed his hairless head low, rattling his garish trophies. "No ruckus meant."

"None felt. Answer him, if you desire...Brother."

Claret added the overly familiar title as an afterthought, though the rising impressions of glee and pleasure radiating from the Mutant made it clear he treasured the honor, or at the very least respected it. Warbands guided under her will had spared Zaar and his brother's lives, had armed and guided their wrath, earning her an approximation of debt and regard from those he commanded...useful to cultivate if blunt.

"How fares the others? I ordered no deaths, no injury beyond the scope of your daily observations..."

"Nah, they's be sittin' tight. I's gottem' in hand. My word, Mistress." Zaar declared emphatically, glaring out at the two children now watching the scene with mixed interest and disgust. "They's be hungry, true. Sweet Curve, warm, sweet." A forked tongue flicked across his fangs as he stared at a now thoroughly alarmed Emerald, loosing bloody spittle across the Agitator's now unsmiling face as incisors carved the soft tissue to shreds. "A taste, only be a nibble...!"

A renewed Psychic onslaught put him swaying back a few steps into the container's confines and thankfully out of sight, the last few moments along with his hunger torn from his mind and scattered.

Restless without outlet, confused without reason, the Mutant war-leader returned drunkenly to his misshapen flock, joining his voice with there's in worship of the Blood God that had seen them free. For now...

"Hmm...Almost sorry I asked now, boorish manners on that one. Their vernacular always leaves a bad taste." Balimund said with an air of resigned disdain, wiping the worst of the spittle from his face with a tissue cloth while offering an apologetic nod to the pair at the storehouse door. "Our generous Hostess best be quick about this business of hers, lest she come back to a few less helping hands. How much longer do you think to keep them suppressed so, Dearheart?"

"Far longer if you ceased antagonizing them at every opportunity." Claret replied sharply, hating that she rose to his baiting so easily. Her nerves indeed strained by the prolonged efforts to keep the Mutant Conclave calm and congregated in one place, quiescent...they had once numbered thirteen after all, Zaar and his brood had been so ravenous...beyond even her control, as Nave no doubt sought to imply now with his jests. "We must be cautious now so more than ever, as the last of our number still roaming free."

The last of the truly faithful...all other servants of the True Powers from what her visions and the whispers of her 'Passenger' conveyed had either been culled by the Grimmspawn or the Loyalists that first bloody day.

That, or captured by these Atlesian Planetary Defense Forces, an unlucky few hunted still moment by moment...the focus of their terror faint, only the barest glimpses of a giant in black wielding a rage far darker in the violent throes of their own psychic death cries...

 _'...an Angel's wrath...'_

Those the Disciple felt clearly, each loss a blow to her gut...but she would not mourn them, but she may regret the loss of their potential.

"Small numbers indeed, given the fact you abandoned many of the rest to their fate at the hands of the Rot God King's servants. And now here we are left to grovel at the feet of one with barely the slightest idea of what or whom she truly serves!? Lord Viridis would never have stood for...!"

"Viridis is dead, sacrificed as the others were in carrying us this far!" Her words flowed freely, painted with pride and the knowledge of one for which all had purpose. "We stand on Remnant, Balimund, in the heart of the Exiled One's prison itself! The _Rite of_ _Cataclysm_ succeeded, a stable route parsing the veil between realities established, a true extimate fold found and reopened at the very doorstep of the Great Eye!"

"Yes, yes I'm quite aware of what we did, Dearheart." Balimund waved off the zeal, that mismatched gaze holding her fast. "The impossible tends to stick out amidst the tedium. What was it they said, a ' _Dream of the Insane_ '?"

For good reason, the very basis of such a phenomenon involved the overlap of two entirely differing locations into the same point in both time and space, both in the Physical realm and the Empyrean. To go a drive further, to store such a space in between the folds...by all laws of physical and metaphysical reason this place, this planet, shouldn't even exist let alone be a seat of civilization.

But yet here it was, a jewel of incredible possibility cast adrift to the whimsy of beings far beyond petty things such as reason or sense.

 _ **-"Viridis, Gadreel and the Others all promised a world of paradise. Power beyond our reckoning, but we both knew that was simple fancy now didn't we? The skeins of the Warp never offers without taking something back in return..."-**_

Balimund leaned forward conspiratorially while tapping a forefinger to his temple, and Claret realized with an irksome start that he was allowing her to perceive this fraction of thought so that they might communicate without notice.

His mind compartmentalizing about this open door, a shifting puzzle where the first move had already been solve, the temptation to delve deeper...

 _ **-"No, wait...no, you actually truly believed him, didn't you?...Ah yes, I see them now, the micro-tells, the imperceptible twitches...written like art all over your...!?"-**_

 _ **-(-"ENOUGH!"-)-**_

The Agitator recoiled with a strangled moan as her Psychic Displeasure knifed into the meat of this puzzle with all the brutality of a true dagger, skull slamming back against the container's walls with a sharp ringing impact that drew growls and yipping cries from the ravenous abominations caged inside.

They feared such power, feared her as much as adored her...

Such outcries were swiftly silenced as well, until soon the only sounds in the wide empty space were the rapid clicks of the criminal duo's now readied weapons and Nave's wet hacking breaths, his airways clogged by vomit and mucous that lazily puddled across the floor.

The man's prettied features not quite so clean and put together anymore, not face down with tracks of crimson weeping from now panicked eyes.

 _ **-(-"We are hurt, yes. I believed, yes. And I am not Viridis, I lack his patience and his greed."-)-**_

Claret stared down from her kneeling spot of meditative worship, a juddering muscle pulse hidden beneath crimson bangs and a thin drip of blood from one nostril the only physical signs of what Nave's reprimand had cost her, the only one she allowed, but it was worth it to watch him squirm. Memories of Viridis' final perfidy, how he had drawn upon the the powers of the ritual to fuel his apotheosis to Daemonic Princeling...his fate had been deserved.

She would not make the same mistakes...all she had, she gave to the Cause.

 _ **-(-"Despite this, I will pave the way for The Fallen Angel and our Lords Highest. And standing together, by faith and blood, our Exiled Master WILL TASTE VICTORY!"-)-**_

This final emphasis set convulsions wracking through his prone form, his mind once again locked to her but thoroughly shaken in the offing.

Her ' _Passenger_ ' still felt it too lenient, claws raking at her innards, a tongue that wasn't a tongue lapping at her servant's fear and pain, sampling them as a Governor might sample a fine vintage.

But she would not, _could not,_ allow herself to act on its desires, not yet. Balimund Nave was still useful...but examples must be made of course, even if Malach Ro-288 gave no outward signs of having noticed or cared in the slightest for the visceral interaction of his fellows.

No, the Magos' senses were keyed outwards, focused unerringly towards...

* * *

 _"...an influx of fresh biological contacts drawing closer to this dwelling's entrance. ANALYSIS: Four armed subjects bearing a Pattern of Assault Stub gun not wholly dissimilar from standard Stubcarbine Patterns, marching in loose formation with two heat signatures leading the advance."_

Magos Malach Ro-288 quirked the mismatched amalgamation of photolenses, feeder tubes, dangling wires, and shaped plastek casing that constituted much of what remained of his head in examination of threat probabilities alongside analysis of appropriate situational dialogues for various outcomes.

Augmetic senses far beyond that of his compatriot's meager flesh allowed such luxury for preparation and contemplation, having already scanned minor gait-variations among other unique biometric identifiers against recorded archives embedded within the warm thrumming of his Intelligence Core.

Computation worthy of several cogitators, fulfilled in the span of time it took young Nave to shudder and buckle under the Sorceress' mental assault. Those most recent dealings to secure such upgrades had been truly worthwhile indeed. His cortex driven thoughts raced at speeds akin to divinity, his auto-senses creating a web of sensory in-load that extended far beyond this meager hab block.

"...- ** _0101001001101001 01110110 01100101 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111-..."_** He ex-loaded his glee in rapturous whispered cant, a slight glitch in the artificial nerve bundles of his augmetic forelimbs reacting to an old involuntary pleasure neural response present in his previous flesh carapace. Metallic digits and mono-filament mechadendrites quivering in unbidden haptic excitement.

An old quirk, one he had decidedly never acted to discard, for what purpose he couldn't quite say. The reasoning no doubt lost to the centuries of rampancy and bio-mechanical ascension...

He consciously allowed moments for contemplation and self reflection, sectioning off layers of processing within his neural network. His true focus however was directed upon the interlopers, the entities sharing his consciousness devouring raw data with single-minded voracity.

The haggard breaths of multiple sources drawing in air by way of the inefficient sacs of shuddering meat within their chests, disgusting truly. The chugging hum of a distant aircraft's engine cycling down, practically screaming in its desperate need of proper maintenance denied it. And above all, that telltale marker associated with the steps of their Benefactor's emissary, punctuated by the clicking of inefficient glass heels...

 _"DETERMINATION: Lady Cinder has returned, and brings others in her wake as well. Further data influx concludes with Ninety-Five point Two-Four Percent certainty that these newcomers consist wholly of the local Abhuman-strain designated..."_

"F-Faunus!?"

It appeared Nave was recovering somewhat, his voice hoarse and slurred, all illusions of class stripped away by indignity and discomfort. Possessed of an impressive fortitude indeed, far-exceeding that of others subjected to similar stimuli in Malach's archives. The Agitator had worked his way up to his knees, refusing to look at the Psyker Sorceress though addressing her all the same, so inefficient...

"The Fall woman never mentioned a blasted word about bringing strangers here! Certainly not those bearing arms!"

His unspoken question was clear, yet Lady Claret didn't bother entertaining an answer. Deigning only to rise and straighten the tattered vestments she wore into something resembling civility.

Slow and measured steps bringing her to Malach's side as a rattling * _clang_ * arose from the rolling sheet metal doorway that constituted an entrance, Emerald Sustrai at the ready to greet the party outside while Mercury Black stood as observer and monitor both.

Truly he was a marvelous subject, stepping with the calm assured grace that well equaled if not surpassed similar augmentations displayed by the Skitarii militant forces of most standard Forgeworlds. Whoever or whatever had gifted the boy his implants was quite a mind indeed, one whose brain Malach would very much like to pick apart.

"These souls do not intend us harm, though they are wary of our Savior." The crimson haired female commented with the assurity provided by her ' _talents_ '. Black Nostromon irises narrowing slowly as the metal portal completed its squealing vertical trek and Cinder Fall stepped into the stark illumination of the warehouse's overhead flood lamps.

Eyes of gleaming amber leered out at the assembled inhabitants from beneath ashen black tresses that fell across bared shoulders in easy waves. A near scandalously cut dress of fiery red outlined by gold colored traceries that almost appeared to burn with a fiery flickering radiance. In fact they were burning quite literally, the Magos easily detecting excessive traces of _Dust Substance #R-001_ present within the weaving of the material, in itself emanating a potent aetheric field detectable by his more esoteric sensors.

 _'Imbuing the material within items of clothing...DETERMINATION: Further study warranted, potential combat and defensive benefits outweigh risks...'_

An impressive specimen of disarming physical beauty and regal disdain, evoking the image of a Planetary Governor's favored daughter without the all too common traces of subtle yet heavy cosmetic surgery and weight of excess. Lady Fall was dangerous as well, much like the flames she commanded at will in battle, emanating this air of tireless hunger.

Ruthlessly cunning if what small glimpses of her overall plan were to be believed, ambitious in the extreme...and eternally displeased with the rising interest shown in her newest charges.

"My deepest apologies for being away so long, urgent business to attend to. You all understand I'm sure?" Her voice, low and well modulated to present auditory cues of regret and conciliation, all likely false. "I trust Emerald and Mercury have been more than hospitable in the interim?

 ** _-(-"Stand vigilant yet follow my lead, and do not act without provocation. I sense an imminent crossroads ahead, salvation and doom in equal measure."-)-_** Claret continued in psy-communion, inclining her head slightly in respectful greeting as though to an equal. Nave and Malach moving to follow suit in their own ways, Nave grimacing at the continued telepathic contact. Despite this, the foppish provocateur bowed low with no small amount of flourish. Somewhat still off-balanced by his earlier punishment and leaking in some places, meanwhile the Magos made a show of adjusting fine weight distribution along hissing joints. _ **-(-"There is potential here...Cinder, she seeks to rid herself of us in the guise of providing aid. Little does she know she truly fulfills both, Magos.-)-**_

Ah, so she was only truly addressing the Mages then?

That would make logical sense, Nave's array of mental defenses no doubt locked tight, his discomfort more a matter of proximity than direct contact. Young Claret was coming along so fast, just like her Master before her. Malach had to wonder how much of that was the female's own initiative and talent, and what she owed to the ' _addition_ ' he had aided Lord Viridis in granting her.

He could have extrapolated likely percentages and run simulations regarding the comparison, though that would have been a waste of processing capability.

Especially when there were far more interesting subjects of study readily available...

"So...these are the ones you told us about?"

A measured growl preceded the handful of armed individuals treading into the space behind the Red Witch, falling into a loose tactical spread that Malach Ro-288 noted would allow them to react with varying degrees of effectiveness to any present threat within the structure, even that from Cinder herself.

A motley bunch uniformed in white sleeveless jackets stuffed with body armor that didn't quite distract from the various signs of physical abnormality. Vestigial ears, scales, even a prehensile tail, all were represented by these mutants, these...'Faunus'.

"The 'travelers' you picked up? The ones supposedly left over from the _Cata_...from the Storm?"

The Speaker, sporting dark clothing of mixed reds and blacks in stark contrast to his fellows though bearing a similar mask obscuring the upper half of his face, placed a lazy hand upon the hilt of the sword belted at his waist and strode forward confidently. Malach surmised him a leader among his fellows, marked out clearly as an 'Alpha' and placed above by his differences, his blatant displays of individuality common in pack/squad mentality.

Jagged horns of dark ivory material peeked out along the sides of his head, almost lost in his shock of red hair, only a few shades darker than Malach's own Mistress and the dress Cinder flaunted.

"Indeed, from a group at odds with those currently residing at Beacon. As we discussed before." Cinder replied, crossing her arms and easing back into a relaxed stance while her pair of underlings moved to either side. "You don't approve?"

"Certainly don't look like much." The bull-headed Faunus spat back, gesturing with a nod towards his men in non-verbal command, two breaking away to follow him as he moved forward with his hidden gaze intent on Lady Claret and Balimund Nave. "More humans, of course. Why am I not surprised?"

Masks worn in imitation of the Grimm Xeno-form for reasons of primitive intimidation tactics, wholesale Faunus demographic, fragmentary cross-comparisons of the logo across one particularly anxious solider drawn from glimpses as he'd shifted to glance behind him...Malach knew of this outfit designation, though this was his first time encountering members of the White Fang Movement _'in the flesh'_ so to speak.

The Heretek had not been idle in his curiosity these last long days. The opportunities presented, a whole new culture nay...a whole new _world_ to record, quantify, and understand. And it wasn't as though the gleaning of such information had been overly difficult, especially once he'd been able to incorporate the ' _Scroll_ ' cogitator device Emerald Sustrai had provided him with into his physical makeup successfully. Utilizing fully his voracious Data-Geist's as well as the unprecedented access of even this civilian device to delve deep into the collected history and knowledge of his surroundings.

In the Imperium, data on anything was a precious commodity jealously guarded by the Priest of the Red Planet if not lost across the deepest libraries and long forgotten cogitator banks of a million worlds by dint of the overwhelming bureaucracy of the Adeptus Ministorum. It's own bloated system it's own perfect defense.

But here by comparison, in this place, facts, figures, and even communications might as well have been sectioned off into easily digestible chunks free for the sampling. The mainstream of processing and transfer centered around and controlled by a series of relays leading back to four central hubs that fed off of and supported one another intrinsically.

A web work of function supported by these vast pillars...and yet so very delicate. If even one were to fall...thoughts for another day.

These and more had been the cyborg's first true tastes of Remnant in an exalted swell of holy data, and the Thief's first experience with the full scope of mechanical splendor comprising Malach's artifice. Going by the retching heaves his auto-senses had isolated along with the mocking sympathy of her Partner, Emerald did not take to the revelation easily. It was almost offensive...

 _'Meaningless, focus on the facts...'_

The White Fang had been a rather well documented Movement, its actions and motivations of interest to many across the length and breadth of the planet these recent years. _'Militant Faunus seeking to tear down the systemic oppression of the human race and uplift their fellows'_ or perhaps _'Bloodthirsty terrorists seeking to bring an end to civilized society through extremist dogma and reprehensible terror campaigns'_ , both definitions depending on whom one asked.

The Heretek had seen their like before across dozens of worlds, a downtrodden segment of the subhuman population seeking to better their environmental conditions by increasingly violent means, often at odds with suppression forces controlled and supplied by the status quo.

Viridis had cultivated many such cults with passionate fervor and levels of enjoyment often bordering on sadism, their numbers almost always decimated by Imperial forces, their only purpose to soften resistance and distract from the true threat. Men like the one coming closer always the most useful, and always the first to the pyre...

"You stand before the White Fang. The truest defenders of the Faunus race, the representatives of Remnant's superior species." The swordsman cocked his head at Malach's companions before favoring the fallen Tech Priest with a wary sneer. The Heretek was inclined to allow this, following his Lead's order and remaining silent, despite the dozen or so threat markers and targeting matrices picking the Faunus apart moment by moment. "My name is...!"

"Adam Taurus, vaunted Lieutenant of the White Fang, and ' _He who slices apart the hanging moon'."_ Claret curtsied, startling the now named Taurus with her sudden speech, evidently thrown off and for good reason while his guards brought their weapons to bear. Pointless really, Malach doubted they'd manage to get so much as a shot off if pushed to extremes. If not at the hands of Claret than himself, and if not him...well, Zaar and his flesh brothers would enjoy a morsel. "Chosen by the skeins of Fate to lead his people to new heights, despite great personal sacrifice. You are known."

"Hmph...Pretty words." Adam raised a hand to steady his guards though noticeably not the one he kept on his sword hilt. "You seem to think you know quite a bit at least. The Red Witch mentioned that, so you're the one called...?"

"Claret, the name the gods gifted me with. Such will serve." The mention of her deities unsettled the terrorist, micro-expressions among other chemical tells indicating as much. Claret noticed this too, pursing her lip before lowering her eyes once more in deference. "And the Lady Cinder is correct, I am privy to many things lost or thought hidden. It is one of my gifts, one of many I can offer if you would allow it so?"

"Gifts like mind reading? Cinder let slip that little detail too on the way over. No need to test that." The Fall woman smirked, and though faint Malach could feel the tension ripple through Claret's presence. Carefully schooled into calm serenity and a smile that stole the grin off her counterpart's face. "Which I suppose means you must know why I'm here, then?"

For one encountering a Psyker, Adam Taurus displayed commendable restraint. Of course the Magos surmised a Eighty-Nine Point Nine-Two percent likelihood he was merely confident he could slay the Sorceress/Demagogue before she offered any true threat.

"I am aware what Lady Fall promised you and your compatriots, yes Adam Taurus." She replied tentatively, maintaining not only an air of confidence but one of submission as well. Nave merely choosing to stay quiet, though the former Priest could feel the pounding of his heart and note the tension in his bowed musculature. He hated being forced to grovel, almost as much as he hated being contained. "In return for your aid and succor in this time, I will swear myself and my companions to yours and your fellows' shared cause. Together, we will see an end to the Kingdoms of Mankind and those who claim to defend it, setting the foundations of a new order to the benefit those worthy."

By his expression it was clear who Adam Taurus felt to be those 'worthy' of this lofty declaration, though he seemed pleased enough. Pleased, but skeptical...

"An _'end to the Kingdoms'_ eh?" He bared inch by inch of ardent cerise steel slowly with a near silent hiss perceptible only to those with senses keyed to levels remarkable. A sneer creeping across his thin lips as he moved with speed well beyond the expectations of what should have been possible for an unaugmented human, closing the distance until the edge of his sword shone a mere hair's breadth from Claret's jugular. Malach's targeting aides flashing red, tracking the entire motion if only just while Nave's hand twitched for the book he carried. "We'll need more than overzealous promises and fancy rhetoric, Human. We require weapons, an army...!"

"And both you shall have and so much more, wielded and led by the finest of Warriors. The whispers of the gods and our Exiled One proclaim it to be so, and so shall it be." Slowly, ever so slowly, her pale fingers moved to push the blade gently aside. Her face impassive even as the fine edge sliced deeply into the digits staining the sword a further crimson, Taurus allowing the motion though whether willingly or by some unseen communication between the two the Heretek could not say. "But of course if proof is what you require, take heed of the least that I offer and judge the worth of my words. You were followed, Adam, betrayed yet again."

"What!? What do you...!?"

Taurus stepped back, flicking the Sorceress' blood from his sword an instant before flood lamps sprang to life along the periphery of the outside, bathing the whole of the work yard in bewildering illumination. Sirens blared as well, half a dozen ground cars including a large personnel carrier skidding to a halt surrounding the entrance.

Lightly armed Arbites roved into cover at the sides of more heavily equipped soldiers in thick sets of carapace armor if more heavily modified.

" _THIS IS VALE P.D IN SUPPORT OF ATLAS-VALE SECURITY FORCES!"_ The missive boomed, garbled by distortion and noise baffling but clear enough in it's intent. _"TO WHITE FANG MEMBERS AND AFFILIATES, LOWER YOUR WEAPONS AND SUBMIT TO ARREST! THERE'S NOWHERE TO RUN...!"_

While Nave reacted swiftly to leap behind what protection the storage container provided, Malach's Data-geists picked out varied pieces of technology and weaponry on display, cross-checking it against known and available specifications present in data he'd collected. Determining firing patterns and target priority, vectors of attack along with elements of communication.

An outgoing signal was detected, bouncing off the nearest prime hub towards a position several hundred meters above the city.

 _'INFERENCE: A ship perhaps, an organized effort?'_

Whatever the reason it mattered little and could be reexamined at a later junction, the Heretek's peculiar suite of Machine Spirits smothering the signal and swiftly moved to infect the offending piece of technology with a potent infection of scrap-code that swiftly spread throughout the strike team's communications and much of the nearby area's broadcast network.

The security, if it could even be called such, was utterly laughable and overwhelmed in mere moments.

 _"...SURRENDER PEACEFULLY OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!"_

If they noticed however the insidious poison pervading their technology they gave little sign. No doubt intent on their prey, animals hunting animals...Adam's soldiers scrambling for what pitiful cover they could reach. Meanwhile Cinder and her fellows retreated into the shadows, their outlines blurring until they simply...vanished?

 _ **'ERROR...ERROR...RE-CALIBRATING...'**_

No, they didn't simply vanish, they were merely hidden, whether by some cloaking technology or something more arcane Malach couldn't determine without further data. Details to assess at a later date...

He could still track their signature in Infrared prey-sight however, Cinder's outline a bloom of heat in comparison to the others. Standing in contrast was Claret who, despite shielding her sensitive eyes from the harsh lighting, seemed perfectly at ease, placing a comforting hand on Adam's shoulder to ostensibly keep him from acting hastily. She was fortunate, he'd calculated a fifty-seven point nine-four percent likelihood of a violent reaction stealing the limb by mistake.

"Traitors must suffer, in that we are agreed." He heard the redhead whisper softly in the Faunus' ear before murmuring something else, something foul.

A word that was not a word by any reasonable quantification or vocabulary, one that swept through the fabric of reality and made it ache. A sound that defied reason and created such discord in his mental equilibrium that the Magos was forced to shut down and re-calibrate his auditory sense implants lest he be swept in the foul enunciation's tides, Adam himself staggering with a Crimson energy about him flashing wildly like an ignited signal flare.

As it was, the White Fang who had been looking back out the door earlier let loose a throat rending howl that exploded from his mouth in a welter of bloodied vomit and broken teeth, collapsing into open view of the yard for all to see. Uniform bulging and limbs jerking at unnatural angles, his fellows torn between aiding him and fleeing at the horrific sight.

So grotesque was the display that even those outside didn't quite know how to react, staring in dumbstruck horror as the young Faunus' body rebelled against itself. Flesh running and pooling in thick rivulets like melting wax, all while hands now bloated with jagged bone struts clawed and tore into a face collapsing inward until all that was left was a distended screaming maw of broken incisors attempting to articulate pleas that simply would not come.

Stolen by that single _word..._

Instead the thing that had once been Faunus wept and it thrashed, charging headlong at the hastily assembled cordon screaming pitifully for mercy, finally provided by the sharp rapport of one quivering Arbites' weapon though not before it tore the bodies of three others apart in spectacular displays of violence and weathered the salvos of several more. Silence falling over the entirety of the scene, silence broken by a voice of zealous adulation and joy.

"We of the Exiled Path greet you, White Fang!" Claret collapsed to her knees taking Adam's struggling form down with her in some mock imitation of obeisance. Dark veins showing along her neck and face, a gleam of fiery red burning in the dark of Nostramon orbs. "Let this be the beginning of a beautiful partnership, and the beginning of the end for this paltry peace!"

At her declaration, whatever spell or influence holding Zaar and his twisted kin docile was ripped away and discarded in a moment of eerily curious tension. A single long drawn out moment of false serenity.

Then the door to the storage container flew off its hinges with an ear-shattering _*CRASH*_ , the shadows writhing within spilling forth in a tide of misshapen flesh and the fury of those bearing the favor of a god whose passions had been denied them for far too long. Heaving muscle strained, chains and hooks dragged across permacrete, rusted blades embedding themselves into deeply gristle and bone...

At that point such silence was moot, the only sounds after that the panicked discharge of weapons fire and the screaming of those who survived afterwards to whet the mutant's ravenous appetites...

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 **A/N: A little look at Chaos, not everyone's favorite cup of tea but we've gotta give the antagonists some love too, just to see what their up too and plan some good ol' fashion witch pyres. Took ten chapters, TEN, but I think the world buildings pretty much done. Folks like seeing RWBY characters interact with the Grimmdark, and I will strive to provide.**

 **In other news, I know there are heretical amounts of characters in this story and quite possibly more to come. Just thought I'd whip this list up for you guys just to help people keep track of names and where they are in the narrative, even the dead ones. Hope it makes things easier. - Mojo**

 **(-Dramatis Personae-)**

 **:Imperium:**

 **Junior Commissar Catriona Catelin** \- Junior Commissar hailing from Cadia assigned to a detachment of the Cadian 8th acting in defense of Kasr Rantik, serving with distinction and even assuming indirect command of the defending forces upon the sudden violent death of her Mentor. Lead the counter-attack that saw the Commander of the Traitor Forces dead if not in time to prevent the ritual that sent herself and a sizable number of forces drawn from both sides across the surface of Cadia and beyond. Fought to repel sudden attack by Grimm flocking in response to negative emotions, once more taking charge of scattered Imperium forces and organizing a defense until relieved by arrival of Atlas Forces.

Currently held by said Forces much to her chagrin, representing Imperium interests.

 **Sister Novitiate Delphine -** Sister of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, Delphine fought her first war upon the surface of Cadia alongside her Sisters against forces assailing the already besieged Kasr Rantik. Stood against the Apostle Viridis as her Order's sole representative on the field, aiding in distracting the Astartes leading to his death. Drawn to Remnant and fought in the Battle of the Emerald Forest.

Currently held under guard of Atlas forces under heavy guard.

 **Trooper Lux Brindle -** Trooper of the Cadian 8th Imperial Guard and re-socialized Ganger scum, determined as highly skilled and months away from consideration for the Kasrkin Elites. Waylaid by the 13th Black Crusade, serving with distinction during the battle of Kasr Rantik where he and the Junior Commissar slew the Chaos Sorcerer leading the assault. Was manipulated by Psyker Nell to act in her defense, fighting through the chaos of the Battle for the Emerald Forest against both Grimm and Traitor Forces to reach her before being saved by Yang Xiao Long.

Currently held by Atlas Forces, serving under Catelin.

 **Lady Vivian Stahl -** Knight Scion and Head of House Stahl, Pilot of the Knight Titan _Verdant Dawn,_ who fought upon the Fields of Cadia against the Apostle Viridis' forces. Drawn to Remnant by the Sorcerer's ritual, she engaged larger Grimm that fell upon the beleaguered survivors where her Mount sustained heavy damage.

Currently held by Atlas Forces along with her machine.

 **Nell -** Imperial Wyrdvane(Wild) Psyker in service to the Cadian 8th Regiment, assumed indirect Psychic command of Knight Scion Vivian Stahl, Trooper Lux Brindle, and Sister Novitiate Delphine during the Fall of Kasr Rantik. Through this bond, she manipulated Brindle to her defense during the chaos of the Imperium's arrival within the Emerald Forest.

Currently held by Atlas Forces under 'strict' watch.

 **Darius Trager** **-** Sacristan(A Demi-Tech Priest of Knights) in service to the Noble Knight Household of Stahl and its Lady Vivian. Thought Lost upon the surface of Cadia.

 **Alberic** \- Imperial Primaris Psyker stationed alongside the Cadian 8th during the fall of Kasr Rantik. Slain upon the field by the Dark Apostle Viridis.

 **Canus -** Honored Knight of House Krast, lost along with his Knight Titan _Stalwart in Grace_ upon the Fields of Cadia to creatures within the Immaterium.

 **Atra -** Minor Knight of House Krast who served during the Fall of Kasr Rantik, lost along with his Knight Titan _Mordred's Humility_ in the midst of the **_Cataclysm._**

 **Sister Superior Mariana -** Commander of the Adepta Sororitas survivors during Fall of Kasr Rantik, slain by the Apostle Viridis.

* * *

 **:Space Marines:**

 **Raaf Praeto -** Scout Marine of the Raven Guard Chapter on the cusp of promotion to full Battle Brother, was drawn to Remnant during actions to apprehend/assassinate a Traitor Astartes Sorcerer alongside forces of the Deathwatch and his own Chapter. Currently the 'prisoner' of the Branwen Tribe, a Latent Psker.

 **Caim Sarkha -** Brother of the Flesh Tearer's Chapter seconded to the Deathwatch (Alien Hunters). Currently roaming within the Emerald Forest in defiance of Atlas Forces after aiding Imperium Forces upon arrival.

 **Giallo -** Devastator of the Lamenters Chapter, cast upon Remnant during a failed teleportation assault directed towards Cadia. Currently traveling within the confiens of Menagerie, making war upon hostile White Fang Forces.

 **Tetahi Mā -** Void Brother of the Carcharodon Astra(Space Sharks), encased in the Terminator Armour of his Chapter's 'Red Brethren' in service of the Chapter Master. Landed upon the coast of Menagerie, encountering Giallo to the detriment of White Fang Forces.

 **Odd Redtooth & Bruna - **Skyclaw(Assault Marine) of the Vlka Fenryka(Space Wolves) Chapter serving in the Great Company of Sven Bloodhowl, taken by the void alongside his Cyberwolf companion Bruna during orbital assault on Traitor Forces, he arrived on Remnant and now fights for survival along other Astartes Remnants.

 **Niall -** Apothecary of the Black Templars Chapter, drawn to Remnant in the wake of Viridis' Ritual. Currently dwelling in the wilds of Atlas alongside other Astartes, protecting the gene-seed of his fallen Brothers.

 **Neophyte Lividus -** Scout Marine of the Ultramarines Chapter, drawn to Remnant while in service to the vaunted Ultramarines Honor Company and the defense of Cadia. Currently dwelling in the wilds of Atlas alongside other Astartes.

 **Honorable Dearg -** A Battle-Brother of the Brazen Claws Chapter sealed within a Contemptor Dreadnought Chassis now 'leading' the assorted survivors upon the fields of Atlas on Remnant. Ancient beyond counting, perhaps stretching back to the dark days of the Horus Heresy and the Xth Legion.

* * *

 **:Chaos:**

 **Viridis -** Traitor Astartes Apostle of the XVIIth Legion "Word Bearers". Proclaimed Prophet of the Exiled Fifth God of the Warp, he utilized Abbadon's 13th Black Crusade and the death throes of Cadia to fuel a ritual (Known as the _**Cataclysm**_ ) that opened a rift between Physical Reality and the Immaterrium. Siphoning on the sheer excess of Sorcerous energy, he sought to remake himself as a Daemon Prince of the Forgotton One, but failed and was slain by the combined efforts of Loyalist Forces. Succeeded by his Disciple, Claret.

 **Clara / "Claret" -** A mortal follower descended from the long dead world of Nostramo, corrupted Psyker of great power, and favored disciple of the Dark Apostle Virdis. Currently leading the scant Remnants of her Master's forces upon Remnant, dancing to the tune of her Mistress and the proliferation of Chaos Manifest.

 **Zaar -** Mutant War Leader responsible for uprisings in the lower underhives of Kasr Soliq. Sworn to Claret's service alongside his Kin, a fervent tool of Powers beyond his reasoning.

 **Malach Ro-288 -** A Dark Mechanicus Warpsmith in service to Viridis and later Claret,a Heretek loyal only to the pursuit of knowledge whatever the cost.

 **Balimund Nave -** A mysterious figure working in association with Viridis and now Claret. An agitator with a long list of rebellions and worlds cast into anarchy by his name and his deeds.

 **Gadreel & The Lost Others - **The Benefactors to whom Claret and by extension all surviving followers of the Exiled Path owe fealty. Gadreel the 'Fallen Angel', and others for whom Claret has sworn to to open the path to unspoiled Remnant.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 11 - Guests & Prisoners -**

* * *

 _ **Hate! Hate! Hate!  
An emotion as pure as it is deep!  
Hate! Hate! Hate!  
Let it flow, let it run free!**_

\- Inspirational Verse, Imperial Hymnal Vol. IV

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Academy Grounds, Vale - One Week Post- _Cataclysm_ )**

" _Ah ha_! I knew it!"

Ciane peeked out through her camera's lens from her hiding place amidst the bushes and brambles, snapping photos every so often with Dust driven clicks.

Pointedly ignoring the twigs snagging in her bright blue ponytail or tugging at best borrowed suit she owned as the young woman eyed up the rampant surplus of activity filling what should have been the Vytal Festival Fairgrounds but instead now more resembled the beginnings of a military operation.

Even as she watched more and more tents seemed to rise out of nowhere alongside pre-fabricated barricades, trench lines and what were likely latrines shoveled with a speed that beggared belief.

The entire operation carried out with nigh effortless efficiency by a host of strangely dressed individuals, most in drab fatigues but many others sporting colorful long coats, curious examples of ornate body armor, or just plain lack of all together. Which wasn't so bad considering those particular perpetrators were among the largest most muscular specimens of mankind the young woman had ever seen.

Not that it much affected their pacing, the camp growing in staggered well organized and above all highly defensible sections that were obvious even to her untrained eye.

"Junior's tip off was right! ' _Joint training maneuvers'_ my soon to be prize winning ass! This... _This_ is pure gold!"

Sure it had cost her a painfully dull evening involving the seedy information broker and an awkward candlelit dinner, having outright refused the inevitable hit to her image would suffer if a reputable journalist such as herself were to be seen in one of those dens of thieves he called nightclubs, but it had all been worth it for this.

A story beyond simple ' _theorizing_ ' about that offshoot of the _Cataclysm_ raging above the Emerald Forest, of which there were plenty with most on-air personalities like Lisa "Two-Dimensional" Lavender talking around in circles with so-called ' _Experts_ ' running the gamut between strange weather phenomenon or violent portent of doom courtesy of the gods.

Ciane had no clue or opinion one way or the other, none she'd share anyway. What she did know was that it was swiftly growing dull, information trickling in at a snails pace with no new details forthcoming. People wanted _NEWS,_ something to cling to where there was nothing to be had.

But here was physical evidence, cold hard proof of the Atlas Security Forces lying through their teeth to the public eye sitting right before her eyes.

The sudden unprecedented postponement of the Vytal Festival without any warning at all despite dozens of stranded foreign students and tourists, the enforced media blackout involving anything and everything to do with the Combat School, all of the above and so much more...

 _Those_ could be explained away, rationalized, by the Northern Kingdom's strict policy smothering journalism.

It had happened before, the Schnee Dust Company's budget cuts in health and safety for its Faunus employees, figures depicting slow decline in Mantle infrastructure in clear favor of Atlas, accusations of military malpractice and arms hoarding...all silenced or swept under the rug, but not today!

Not if Ciane Skye, professional VNN editorial blogger and investigative journalist had anything to say about it!

It didn't matter her Producer had outright denied the story in no uncertain terms, cut her access to Network resources, even stole away her best camera op...so long as she still had her press badge (Even if it would no longer get her in the building). She could still finagle her way into a scoop, even if the young journalist had to do it all on her own...while trespassing.

Not such a big deal right? Those Sentries shouldn't have been so easy to distract, and besides she had a responsibility.

The good people of Vale had a right to know their Kingdom had been invaded by the likes of...uh...?

"Um...wait a sec?" She frowned and leaned in even closer, trying to get a better look at what appeared to be some sort of metal chassis on stocky treads like a construction crane might use, or more specifically the things hauling it via thick cable lines. "W-What the...!?"

A hulking quartet of hissing snapping reptilian bipeds, all razor sharp teeth and curved claws covered in thick dark green scales shot through with needle spines. Strained and literally chomping at the bit to pull the hefty vehicle along towards a growing motor pool of similar constructs. Their struggles urged on by more of the massive musclebound men in tank tops and red bandannas sitting astride them in saddles, shouting what could only have been obscenities and angry encouragements.

Actions in turn supervised by a skittish looking woman in drab fatigues like many of the others but for a red cowl concealing her features, a crude looking metal appendage poking out from one sleeve. Jumpy looking Atlas Troopers stationed along the Camp's borders surveying the scene, and the monsters, with no small amount of alarm.

"Just who's this lot supposed to be anyway?" There didn't seem to be any Faunus present, so White Fang was probably out, maybe strange new players drawn by the storm? "Yeah...Yeah that makes sense, but where did they come from? And those things, Grimm don't even compare..." Ciane muttered to herself, flinching back into a low crouch as one of the beasts loosed a pained yip like nails on chalkboard as one of its fellows nipped at its heels. The pair of riders exchanging a flurry of short lived insults that made her blush a vivid crimson.

Skye had no idea what a ' _Catachan Devil'_ was suppose to be, but could infer enough from the vernacular that finding one in bed with its tentacles elbow deep in... _gods_!

She shuddered, capturing a few last minute photos of the reptiles and their brutish riders before bidding a quick escape when she'd thought one of them might've caught sight of her.

If Atlas managed to snatch her up, the least she could likely expect was some good old fashioned time in a cell, but if one of those strangers and their mounts got a hold of a spunky young-ish reporter with aspirations of fame...well, curse the creative's imagination...

Of course her second hand heel would choose the moment she was in sight of the main campus avenue to catch on a root and snap. her last sight that of the Heroes' Fountain and all its splendor before pitching forward face first through the a knot of thorn-rich brambles straight into the mud beyond.

Thankfully she'd kept her prescious camera clear, at least she hoped she had. Honestly of all things...

 _'Mud? **Mud**!? It hasn't rained in weeks, how could there possibly be...!?'_

A large shadow fell across her prone spluttering form, one she didn't quite notice. Spitting mouthfuls of muck in between bitter whispers with not a few self recriminations mixed in, scraping the worst of the mess from her outfit without much success while trying to get her hair out of her eyes.

"Oh c'mon!"

She gave it up both efforts as a lost causes and pulled at the broken shoe, biting her lip sadly before tossing the traitorous footwear aside. Then and only then did she finally take notice of the somewhat misshapen giant more than twice her size looming over her, laden in a mish-mash of assorted armor plates that looked heavier than VNN's news van.

A curious expression on its... _his_ overlarge face. "O-Oh...Oh give me a break already...?"

Though preferably not literally, that would just complete the morning...stop that, not funny!

"Hiya, purdy Blue Lady!" The behemoth reached out a meaty hand that could have encircled her head easily without much effort and crushed it with even less, it taking all of Ciane's considerable willpower and a hefty measure of fear not to start screaming as she was abruptly picked up by the back of her suit. Hoisted off her hands and knees with shocking gentleness. "You get lost? Don't ya worry none. Kobi elp' too."

His expression, a terrifying waxwork distortion, split into a smile filled with such childlike innocence it was actually kinda easy for the reporter to return. Even as all the blood drained from her face.

"I'm...I um...yes! Yes, thank you!" Skye tried to keep her voice level, nodding so emphatically in Kobi's grip it set her swinging. "You're right, I'm lost, _veeeery_ lost. Mind uh...Mind helping me find my way? If you would...um, please?"

Her last word was a squeak, of course it would be. At least she managed to avoid soiling herself, sparing that last indignity.

 _'Wonder how long that'll last...'_

She was dead, so very _very_ dead, about to be eaten by some giant Faunus-ogre tthing. She'd been greedy, should've taken up Lavender on that Production Assistant gig when she'd had the chance, should've...wait, where was he taking her, exactly? Towards the school...why? _Why?_

Imagined pictures of every monster's den her mother's bedtime stories had ever weaved came spilling from the depths of memory like a solid punch to the gut.

"Gotta do a job, she call me. Gotta get er'." He explained carefully when she asked as delicately as was possible for a woman dangling in the grip of a very large toddler by a thin strip of fraying fabric.

Truthfully she was feeling quite proud of herself even while Beacon students yelped and scrambled to move aside with incoherent shouts of alarm. They all sorta blended together in her mind and Kobi didn't appear to care, or seem even the least bit tired carrying her around through the expansive halls like groceries.

"Tiny friend in ma' ead' said she lonely. Needs ma' elp'."

Hmm what a coincidence, so did Skye. And the Academy full of supposed heroes-in-training was failing her spectacularly in that regard. Had to wonder

This particular situation wasn't exactly one of the ways she'd ever expected to find herself checking out.

Reporting live from a border village in the middle of a Grimm assault, all while Hunters struggled valiantly to defend its inhabitants? Sure there was professional pride in that, along with a smattering of sorta nobility.

Outside a Faunus Rights protest about to get attacked by White Fang? It happened, sad as it was. Hopefully her demise could've had some impact on the narrative.

Acting as an impromptu snack for a curious giant man-child on a mission to find his imaginary friend...nope, can't say that ever came up.

Still, a good reporter had to take advantage of the situation as it presented itself. She'd worked her way into Beacon, though stealth might not be an option anymore. She'd discovered... _something_ even though she had no idea what it was quite yet, only that the Atlesians knew and they weren't telling.

Ciane could run, try to struggle or call out to the students, but that wouldn't be right.

In her not so immodest opinion, or maybe it was just sheer desperation after coming this far, not sticking around to see what happened next seemed completely...

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Headmaster's Office, Vale)**

" _Unacceptable_!"

James Ironwood oft considered himself a proud man, an individual of purpose and of principal.

He could be stern of course, one had to be to command the respect and loyalty of the greatest single military force on the face of Remnant, and the passion he held for his sworn duty was second to none. One only had to glance at his service record, his sacrifices, to determine as much.

Even so, he always strove to embody the cool calm put together perception expected of a man of his vaunted rank by those he served. To never allow his temper to overwhelm or color his actions, and maintain a wall of ordered stoic authority.

Catriona Catelin of the so-called _'Imperium of Mankind'_ was straining that edifice to the breaking point and then some...

"Utterly and completely. I care little for paltry excuses, even less so for such deliberate defiance."

The young woman, little more than a girl really, made quite a sideshow of straightening her stance even further before the clockwork desk, having refused a chair at the start of the daily meeting. Arms at her sides with hands clasped tight behind the small of her back in a picture perfect model of parade rest. The black red-trimmed great coat and epaulets she sported in perfect order despite obvious signs of wear and tear, especially about the tattered crimson sash she wore about her waist and in the shoulder where she'd sustained rather serious injury.

Not that such pains showed on her face even a little, seeming a marble perfect bust carved to evoke righteous indignity.

Disconcerting violet eyes gleamed fiercely from a pale face accented by high cheekbones and patrician breeding, all of it shaded by the brim of a stylized peaked cap that held the teenager's ebon hair in check.

A teenager, a child...but for the admittedly grim countenance and uniform she might easily have passed for one of his students. In fact he'd be impressed if any of his charges displayed even a quarter of her mettle...in moderation, of course.

"By the authority vested in me by the hallowed halls of the _Officio Prefectus_ , the martyred Commissar-Captain Varren Braun, and as sole known living representative of the Departmento Munitorum upon this world, I order you relinquish custody of those _Traitors_ captured by local planetary defense forces immediately without any further delays."

More inane prattle without context, Imperium, Cadia, Traitors and Loyalists, this ' _Emperor of Mankind'_ nonsense. Ironwood might once have laughed in the face of such demands if he hadn't already been forced to endure days of abuse already at Catelin's hands.

"Again with this, really?" He heard Glynda sigh under her breath, tapping her crop against her shoulder. "This is growing ridiculous."

He and Professor Goodwitch were both nearing the limits, the Huntress' nails digging into the casing of the Scroll tablet she bore in her other hand. The two sharing a private look that slowly drifted to the silver haired Headmaster sitting between them, silently sipping at his mug without a care as he weighed the situation from behind his spectacles.

 _'Leaving the arguments and hard calls to me, Oz, as always...at least on the surface...'_

"And as I keep having to remind you, _Commissar,_ that simply will not be allowed to happen." He strained the foreign rank with no small of inflection, noting the flaring of her nostrils and the quirk of her jaw. Still a child, no matter how one dresses. "Those individuals you speak of are currently being held on _my_ vessels under Atlas security, Treated as prisoners and persons of interest in ongoing investigations currently proceeding."

Slowly, far too slowly for Ironwood's liking. Reports trickling in of anomalies and strange happenings running rampant throughout the Kingdoms, and who knew how many unreported. People were scared, growing desperate, and that only brought the Grimm...

"Forgive my candor, but regardless of what authority you believe you hold, you have no right to ask..."

"I have every right, _General_!" Catelin spat back through a thin veneer of calm made lesser by gritted teeth, "Those ' _persons of interest'_ are heretics and traitors all! Irredeemable scum that have willingly turned from the Emperor's grace and flouted reason and reality! Choosing instead to embrace the foul perfidies of the Ruinous Powers! To embrace cruelty and sedition as they work to spread their vile taint...!"

"Which is of course why we've decided to negotiate with your side first, Commissar." Ozpin finally deigned to speak up, setting his mug on the clear surface before him gently. "You and your people at least seem willing to converse with us, to share details regarding your unique eh...'situation'. Thanks to this, Remnant now can claim some base understanding regarding the severe dangers of this anomaly. For that we thank you."

He waved behind him towards the window where the aptly named _Cataclysm_ still pulsed and writhed in the distance above the treetops of the Emerald Forest, vivid lightning and multi-hued coronas dancing in its depths.

"But please do understand that what you're asking, demanding executions and decrying others as 'heretics'...we cannot afford to be seen acting rashly at this time...!"

"' _Acting rashly'_ would be refusing to take any action at all, Scholamaster!" The young woman snapped, swiping an arm for emphasis as children were want to do. Ironwood suddenly very thankful she'd been disarmed. "You have a cancer brewing aboard those ships, one that must be excised before the situation grows even more out of hand! Swiftly and without mercy in His name!"

"Such brutal foolishness...is this why your compatriot acted as she did?" Glynda cut in, brows knitting as she regarded Catelin like one of her students. One with whom she was dearly disappointed. "Three defenseless prisoners dead and half again that many guards severely injured...but she walks free?"

That was more a jab at Ironwood than at the Officer, it had been his decision after all. Not that he'd had much choice in the matter. Not with the powder keg sitting at their gates.

"Sister Delphine simply moved to execute the duties expected of her as a servant of the Golden Throne and a citizen of the Imperium." ' _Duties_ ' such as shattering men's bones to powder with her bare hands during a prisoner transfer, very reasonable. At least she was now being tracked. "As I would expect any loyal soul in this room to act when faced with Heresy of such degree. Actions in which your _Soldiers_ are woefully lacking. The Emperor protects, but we must be watchful in his stead."

She did something then that cut off Ironwood's retort in defense of his men, some gesture that involved folding her splayed hands together across her chest in a manner similar to spread wings.

One swiftly mirrored by those behind her with varying degrees of haste and enthusiasm he noticed sternly. But all with a reverence bordering on uncomfortable zealotry.

 _"The Emperor protects..."_

The first to comply was an older gentlemen with a squarish jaw beneath a thick beard, deep set eyes, and thinning russet hair shot through with grey gleaming with wax. One who had introduced himself to the assembled Huntsmen and Huntress as the Honorable Major Xander Vor Kerrigan Lo Haley of the Sixty-Fourth Paragonian Armoured, with all the pomp and grandiosity one might expect from such a title. Currently holding the dubious honor of being the highest ranking Officer afforded to the Imperials residing at Beacon.

Dressed in a greatcoat not dissimilar in style to Catelin's own, Haley's of a far lighter shade laden with medals and other accouterments recognizable as likely denoting rank within their Imperium. Underneath this was a set of freshly scrubbed body armor laced with regimental filigree and braiding stretched across a stocky frame that was slowly but surely losing the battle to age and excess, especially about the middle.

His left hand dropping to his side only to hesitate for a fraction of an instant, instinctively seeking the hilt of a sword that was currently sitting in storage units originally set aside for the Vytal Festival. Gathering dust along with most of the other weapons brought by the newcomers.

Despite what his gaudy exterior however, the man was undoubtedly a soldier and held himself as such in those myriad minuscule ways only recognizable to those like Ironwood who had given their lives to service. By all rights he appeared the sort of man Ozpin and himself should've be dealing with, the one expected to take charge these crucial talks and sensitive debates, yet for some inane reason he was deferring to the commands of a woman far younger. Quietly meek, awaiting her lead.

No, more than that Haley seemed positively terrified of Catelin, aping her motions and swift to stand in support. His face paling as her mood darkened.

Beside him stood the Commissar's appointed aide, a youthful bedraggled fellow barely older than she was by the name of Brindle. Ironwood had seen plenty of his sort around too during recruitment campaigns in Mantle for service or the academy. Wild personalities tamed by responsibility and shaped into the role of 'soldier' or 'Hunter'.

Close cropped curls matching his namesake warred with eyes the same chilling violet shade as his Lead's, peering out from hawkish features to take in his surroundings as though expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

James knew that mindset all too well, his suspicions of the young man's origins all but confirmed by the faded impressions of inked designs just peeking out around the slack open collar of his fatigues. One of those ' _street tough turned soldier'_ types then, tested against the Grimm as far as Miss Yang Xiao Long's report had implied, but he acted just as skittish as Haley in regards to his fellow 'Cadian'.

A trait not quite shared by the last visitor, unfortunately...

"I feel we've drifted somewhat off topic here." Ozpin, ever the mediator, attempted to quell the fervor before it could spread and devolve once again. "We have pressing matters that need still be discussed. Not the least of which the scope of this er...'encampment' you have your soldiers constructing on school grounds, then of course managing interactions between themselves and those students living in proximity, not to mention other security concerns...!"

"And what of the _Verdant Dawn,_ hmm!?" the so-declared Lady Vivian Stahl, Scion and anointed Head of the Noble Questor Imperialis House of Stahl, stepped forward with her forest green stare fixed on the Atlesian, blatantly disregarding the other Headmaster and the now scarlet Goodwitch in turn. "What of my birthright? Answer me that, Lord Ironwood!"

 _'Huh, " **Lord"** Ironwood, eh? That's certainly a new one...'_ He kind of liked it, but even so it was all he could do not to give voice to the endless sigh he had kept internalized since the Gods endeavored to drop this sordid matter in his lap...

"For the last time, Miss, your...'Mount' is currently being sequestered along with the rest of your force's functioning vehicles until the Headmaster and I can be satisfied our concerns are being addressed. That matter currently up for debate until you interrupted."

"Until your _raptors_ can pick apart its secrets you mean!?" She continued dauntlessly, though even Catelin seemed as fed up as the rest of them were. "You think I cannot feel their grubby fingers pulling and slicing at the sacred body of _my_ machine!? The violation of it! The sheer gall to even attempt...!?" On and on she went, face flushed and mouth pinched so tight it was a miracle she could speak at all.

It was rare for a man of Ironwood's height and status to feel as though he was being looked down upon. Still, Stahl was certainly making a valiant attempt in both regards, even for a child again barely of an age with her two compatriots.

Despite this, standing almost eye to eye at near an impressive six and a half feet, the Scion's profile was only magnified by an internalized arrogance and pomp that the General could almost feel weighing at him in her presence. That her right arm hung in a sling about her neck hardly detracted from the image of the indignant knight.

A lean tightly muscled athletic frame encased in a skin tight green armored body glove that was nigh bordering on obscene in some regards, at least to the point the Commissar's adolescent aide in the room could hardly hide an admiring glance now and again when he thought himself under notice. Sloppy...

A heraldic symbol of a six-limbed reptilian creature coiled in deference to the swooping eagle above it proudly displayed in gold leaf across an ample chest. Tanned skin impossibly free of blemish or scarring crinkled in anger about a sharp featured face. The picture framed by golden hair styled into a flowing sweep to her shoulder on the right with a single curled strand strategically out of place in front of her face.

The left side shaved to barely more than a millimeter or so to better display the thin glistening traceries of silvery sub-dermal circuitry that wound itself around her scalp towards a pair of subtle input plugs of unknown design set into the base of her skull and tip of the spine.

All very impressive to be sure, though the thought that any organized civilization would consider it prudent to entrust a pride stricken girl barely reaching majority with an assault platform that, even damaged as it was, was easily the superior of anything Atlas had ever or even considered producing in terms of function and sheer killing power, was a concept terrifying in the extreme.

Of course it was being studied, and for the moment kept precisely where he could see it. Cordoning off a section of the Emerald Forest large enough to keep the seemingly endless streams of Grimm at bay and maintain proper salvage protocols was already enough of a hassle as it was. But necessary all the same, just as it was to ground air traffic and delay the Vytal Festival despite Oz's urging to the contrary.

This Imperium of Mankind was dangerous, that much was certain. Until he could ascertain the threat they posed, and the potential gain of keeping them around, they would find that Atlas would be the consummate but ever-present host during their stay at Beacon Academy.

Who knew what forces moved in the dark, seeking to take advantage? Ironwood and his army would stand at the ready to meet them, even if it involved turning the city into a fortress.

Some might balk at the need for security certainly, but they would thank him in the end as he fulfilled his duty. Vale deserved no less, and...

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Atlas-Vale Security Command Flagship _Red-1_ , Vale Skyline)**

 _"...and by machinations of Four the Fifth was lost, lost forevermore by the pettiness of Four...!"_

The prisoner was talking to himself. babbling really... ** _again_** , more insistently now. Sitting all alone in his cell chained so as not to harm himself or others as more than one of those taken in had. His incoherent babbling now taking on some semblance of speech where before it had been little more than pained grunts and heaving sobs.

It took all of Private Slate Garret, proud recruit of the glorious Kingdom of Atlas, and his considerable stubborn drive not to be drawn in by the sinister cadence. Shifting his youthful armored weight from heel to heel uncomfortably and gripping the stock of his Dust rifle so tightly he was shocked the frame didn't snap.

Days of interrogation, both sanctioned and otherwise, had produced nothing from the coterie of savages picked up in the Emerald Forest. Questions of intention, of loyalty, of even basic necessities required for comfort, all met by vacant stares or at best dreamlike smiles.

He'd had seen one of the Prisoners do so not too long before, features so utterly misshapen well beyond the point of even the most unfortunate Faunus that medics had believed them wounded in some manner. A toothless vertical crag of gummed sucking orifice gaping wider by deformed muscles pulled beyond the point of reason by manic glee.

A look devoid of anything even remotely human. Slate shivered at the haunting memory, and in that moment his resolve to resist faltered.

The words growing louder, filling a mind compelled to listen by dint of morbid curiosity. This particular Prisoner, Ördek was his name, at least had the good fortune of looking somewhat normal if still...off. The wretch's wiry frame practically consumed in the folds of the jumpsuit he'd been provided, what skin that showed covered in heavy scarring and swirling tattoos that seemed to move the longer one stared...and Slate found it hard not to, at least until he met the other man's deadened violet eyes.

 _"...and_ _bound are they by seals four, all by the schemes of Four. Anarchy cast aside, the dreams of Chaos Manifest dashed, but now the Outcast God laughs anew to the fear of Four...!"_

Garret could almost hear the sound as it was described, a sinister cackle echoing dimly at the barest edges of his awareness. No, it was closer, present in the constant whirring of the Airship's turbines and the gentle hum of florescent. So loud...So loud... _So_...!?

" _QUIET DOWN IN THERE, NUTCASE!"_

The sharp _*CLANG*_ of metal on metalsnapped the Atlas Soldier back to reality with a heart stopping jolt. Wide eyes blinking rapidly behind the visor of his helm as he looked about frantically, calming only slightly when he noticed his watch partner's gauntlet-clad fist lowering from contact with the cell door leaving a sizable dent. One of many Slate noticed uncomfortably as he stood back to attention, trying to pass the slip off.

No such luck...

" _Gah_...Don't listen to it, Rookie, that's the word from up the chain anyway. " The veteran soldier, as far as one could be considered a veteran in this time of Peace, grumbled in a voice like gravel while looking back at the Prisoner in disgust, at least as far as Slate could tell from the nerves tugging at the corners of his mouth.

A good margin older than the recruit, not that it would be obvious to any civilian who didn't know any better. His fellow soldier bore the green trimmed augmetic armor clinging to his wider frame with the reassured bearing of one long used to its weight and eccentricities. He was also one of those men weary of having to listen to new recruits babbling on about stuff they should've learned in basic, having remained stonily silent since he rotated on shift.

Slate didn't even know his name, and was too nervous to ask. Not that it mattered, the other man responded to "Sir" just fine.

"Just stand your post, keep an eye on the crazies, and ignore whatever babble they try to spew." He tapped the side of his own helmet, mouth twisted in an irritated grimace, "Gives ya headaches so they say."

Headaches...now that was true enough, a sudden incessant drumbeat pounding behind Slate's eyelids. On reflex he reached up to massage his temples, cursing silently when his gloved fingers met the smooth surface of his facial visor. Blasted armor, always getting in the way...he'd never understand how some of the longer serving soldiers all but slept in the temperamental equipment.

"Easier said than done, none of these freaks seem to know how to keep their mouths shut."

Aping his superior, he slammed his rifle's butte home against the steel edifice. A poor move it turned out, his only prize a jarred elbow and a renewed ringing in his skull, accompanied by more deranged cackling. Ördek apparently taking quite a bit of amusement at the young man's suffering.

"Gah...blast it...What's the harm in a bit of noise anyway?" His cheeks flushed as the Soldier looked him over with a very noticeable frown. "I-I mean, they're stuck in there right? And they know it, mumbling gibberish won't change that."

"What? Haven't heard the rumors going around, Kid?"

"Rumors?" Slate raised an eyebrow, then remembering his Partner wouldn't be able to see the micro-expression he turned his head to the side. "What kind of rumor?"

"The worst. Word on the sub-channels has it one of the Troopers assigned guard duty on _Blue-4_ went off the deep end." The older soldier held his weapon up, inspecting the hardy mechanisms allowing it to function. "Snapped, just like that."

"Haha, what?" It wasn't that funny, Slate had no idea why he chuckled, he just knew he couldn't stand the sudden tension suffusing the space. Ördek's laughter doing nothing to assuage that particular pressure. "What do you mean ' _snapped_ '? Like he mouthed off or something? Refused an order?"

It happened, even to the best people or so he heard. Not like Slate hadn't been tempted once or twice himself when a particularly nasty Superior got up in his face, they'd trained him to fight after all.

Shifts were long, duties taxing...service in the grand army of Atlas wasn't exactly shaping up to be the thrill ride of heroics the vids had made it out to be back home.

 _'Didn't even get to see the Colosseum arrive, let alone get a look inside...me and my luck.'_ He sighed, adjusting his footing once again to re balance his awkward weight. "That what you mean?"

"Nah, I _mean_ the bugger took his damned rifle, shot his partner and the poor sap they were supposed to be watching to smears then did himself in for good measure while he was at it." Slate paled with an audible gulp, in contrast 'Sir' seemed perfectly at ease, as though the pair were discussing something mundane like the weather rather than a brutal killing. "According to what I heard at least, seems he was muttering to himself the whole time beforehand when Security first showed up. Going on and on about trying to hear the 'Music of Disorder'...heh, all kinds of weird."

"C'mon, that's...ugh...oh gods, I really didn't need to hear that!" The young trooper shivered at the morbid gallows humor, glancing back at Ördek's cell with a whole new appreciation...and trepidation. Fear he did his best to conceal behind another fake peal of laughter, amusement he certainly didn't feel. Quite the opposite really, but better to feel included than apart. "But...but still, probably just a silly rumor going round, right? Ha ha, a bad joke? It's just that's messed up, no way even the General could cover something like that up."

"Bad joke or not, it'd go a ways towards explaining all the air traffic to _Blue-4_ lately, wouldn't it? Why they dropped out of formation yesterday without warning." Slate shifted uncomfortably, suddenly not all too chuffed about his armor anymore. "Anyway the stories do all agree on something, crazy bastard had his ear stuck to the cell door just before it happened."

Slate bit his lip, shifting the grip he bore on his own weapon, finger feathering the trigger with trembling awkwardness. Only Atlas' stern training and discipline kept him from making contact, his lungs tightening instead.

"Yep, just like you did." 'Sir' said coldly, distinctly not looking at Slate. Or perhaps maybe he was, it was impossible to tell for sure with that blasted helmet... "You should stand away from the door. Stop snooping."

"Ah hey! It's not like I meant to...uh, Sir?" Slate rounded on the man, frustration and silent irritation finally reaching its boiling point in a flash of vivid emotion. He wanted to hit the old soldier, shut him up the same way he'd shut the prisoner up, but hesitated. That hesitation gave him clarity, and with that came the recognition of a weapon being aimed directly at his face by unwavering hands. "W-Whoa...Whoa! What are you...!?"

"Seriously Rookie, back off the door." He repeated the order...no...the demand in a low baritone laden with menace as cold as the glacier peaks of Mantle. All the better to hear the racking slide of his rifle, a round snug in the chamber. "Right now, won't tell you again."

Slate backed up in faltering fits and spurts, almost tripping over in his haste to retreat, terror spurring him on even as it turned the bones in his legs to jelly. "I-I...right. Alright!" He closed his eyes, fully expecting to feel the sudden pain of a Dust round burying itself between his eyes. Thoughts of home strayed to the forefront, his family, his regrets...things that hadn't seemed so important in the fit of the moment spur of wrath but now...

He'd been so blind he hadn't realized he'd lost himself before it was too late...and yet he was still standing, seconds ticking by...

"What's the matter with you, son?"

Slate slowly opened his eyes to find 'Sir' standing at perfect parade attention, as though the last few seconds of terror had never happened. But...But they surely had. hadn't they?

"I-I don't...you...?"

He could still feel his heart thundering in his ears as he fell back against the wall unashamedly pulling at the release seal of his helm, gasping for breaths more precious than any he'd ever known before. "Head rush, great. Get your helmet back on, Private. Protocol doesn't bend just cause..." The Soldier paused mid rebuke, tensing subtly at the muffled noise emanating from the open slit of the cell.

Ördek had picked up where he'd left off, his words punctuated by the sound of rattling chains and the dull thud of flesh on steel. Of a skull meeting the wall again and again and _again_...

 _"...Bound by Destruction at the Lord of Skull's hand, bound by Creation of Life and Death unending, bound by Choice and it's spiteful temptations, bound by Knowledge of paths thought too terrible to bear...but I bear the cruel whispers, the whispers of Four..."_

 _'Almost like he's talking to someone...or something.'_ Slate wondered, picking himself gingerly off the floor a good way farther from his 'Partner' than protocol demanded. Humming an Atlas marching anthem under his breath, refusing to listen...he _shouldn't_ listen _...!_

"...Vengeance for the Fifth, for the Outcast, for the Lost..."

"Hmm?" The Private's head turned sharply to regard his superior once again, eye narrowing in confusion and worry. He'd talked, just now, but... "Did you...? Did you say something?"

"Eh? What are you on about now?" Came the curt reply, the same exasperation as he'd come to expect if a tad bit slurred. The man still had his rifle though, resting across his shoulder.

"Uh...N-Nothing, nothing, Sir! Nothing at all!"

"Good, then shut up. Swear you newbies are almost as bad as this lunatic."

 _"...but Ördek hears them...oh indeed I do, and I pledge myself in service of the Maiden true. The Maiden of Ruin, the enemy of Four, sworn of my Soul forevermore...!"_

The two returned once more to stony disciplined silence, if only in show. Slate trying valiantly yet unable to fully tear his focus away from the wretched cacophony filling the cell.

A sound of hysterics born of naught of the joy of a minstrel plucking at his strings and drawing naught but delight at the willful blindness of the unenlightened.

 ** _HimSElF in tURN a pUppET, AWaTtiNg hIs cue upOn ThE sTaGe, hiS SaLVatIon Yet tO eArN...anD thROuGh hIm , SUreLy, ThiS wOrLd sHall be LefT tO BuRn..._**

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 **-END**

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 **A/N: And here we are folks, another chapter of inter-reality tension and a smidgen of Chaos shenanigans. Folks might be able to tell by now I'm Chaos Scum at the best of times, and I've been wanting to get that sort've atmosphere.**

 **Gonna start ramping up a bit, but wanted to get a second opinion. All in all it's been a few days, things are tense, and culture shock is starting to show through the cracks. Catelin is new to command, Lux is channeling Gunner Jurgen, and Vivan is posturing and the Catachan have dinosaurs ..hope it's enjoyable to read at least.**

 **On that note this story is also now up on ChaosSpaceBattles forums as well. Don't really have a preference for either or but it is easier to address individual questions and such.**

 **Anyway, we're gonna be focusing on things at Beacon for a bit with flashes of things going on in the wider world.**

 **Thanks for sticking with this madness so far, always appreciate hearing what you guys have to say. All goes towards making the fic better. Till next time - Mojo**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sworn To Remnant**

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 **-CHAPTER 12 - Catching Up -**

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 _ **I don't care how bloody sanctioned they are, a psyker's a psyker, and anything to do with the warp is more trouble than it's worth.**_

\- Recorded words of General Karis, Imperial Guard

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 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - On Route to Faculty Guest Quarters "Temporary Command HQ", Vale)**

"Those dubious softhearted old... _gragh_!"

Lux's brow quirked at the sheer vehemence in the tirade, acutely aware of the stares they were drawing from those students scurrying their way past them down the hall. Thankfully most had the presence of mind to see trouble and steer clear.

Those that didn't well...the Commissar wasn't a woman to step aside for others, even for those fools twice her size and chock full of adolescent pride.

"Can they not see the vipers they hold in their midst? We warn them of the dangers, we offer viable solutions, and yet that blithering Scholamistress continues to treat me as though I'm one of her...!"

Catelin drew in a deep steadying breath, adjusting her posture and poise mid-step in an instant. Once more assuming the guise of the dauntless Political Officer, her reddened cheeks the only sign such a slip had ever occurred.

That they even occurred at all had probably been the biggest shock for the Guardsman since receiving word he had apparently 'graciously accepted' the vacant position of Special Adjutant to the Commissariat Representative.

That and the pleasent revelation that he wasn't going to be shot for abandoning the Commissar mid-battle to chase after a wayward Psyker mutant. A profound relief in his less than humble opinion.

"...and I was hardly any better in my temperment." Catelin admitted, more to herself than to Lux. The confession appearing to cause her almost physical pain. "I have weakened our position, expected too much from so little."

"It's been damned difficult times for all of us, Ma'am." He'd hoped the statement wouldn't have sounded as pathetic as he thought it would. It didn't, it was worse.

"Never the less, the Lord Commissar would have been ashamed at such...such _petulance_ in my character. Emperor guide us in this time of adversity, shield us from doubt, grant us purpose and clarity."

Her voice trembled for but a moment with the prayer, eyes drifting towards the floor in the closest thing to an expression of doubt Lux had ever seen her wear. A thing brief enough to miss if he hadn't been staring, and frakking difficult to forget.

Still, it was good and gone in the brief time it took him to blink.

"My own faults aside. Remnant's blind morality is the height of foolishness, Brindle, and it will see this world ruined." She perked up, commiseration forgotten in indignity once more. "Bad enough they flaunt their naive tolerances as though it were some badge of merit. That we haven't even been called before one of these 'Councils' of theirs is even more telling."

"Permission to speak, Ma'am." He might've forgotten how to breath for the length of time it took her to nod, Lux couldn't quite be sure. "Uh...Pardon me for saying so, but allowing that noble prig...allowing _Lady_ Scion Stahl to sit in on that meeting probably wasn't the best er...course either. Why let her?"

"Because, Trooper, belligerent or not we will likely need the Scion and her Titan before all is said and done. A fact the ' _noble prig_ ' knows full well." His Superior noted, her expression denoting full well her thoughts on that matter. "Stahl wished to present her case, despite my warnings regarding the likelihood of success. And she's hardly the largest concern."

Catelin marched on a few moments more in terse silence, eyes alight with silent recrimination before presenting an afterthought of her own.

"The Honored Major Lo Haley isn't taking to his appointment with the expected grace, I take it you noticed this?" The change in topic and target caught him off guard, but he steadied himself well enough, or so he thought.

"I...I did see some...hmm, trepidation?" Lux sounded out the unfamiliar word as a question, testing a lingual byproduct rising from the mire of post-conditioned thought. One the Commissar seemed to find appropriate much to his relief. "The men of Paragon don't conscript dolls er... _females_ into their regiments, least that's what I've heard. Don't believe them wholly suitable for combat or some such nonsense."

Which sounded like a sorry load of grox-shite to his ears, especially after seeing women like Catelin charge a trench line or more recently Xiao Long and however she managed to put down that Xenos...that _Grimm._

 _"A_ pity, though such variation in culture, bound by duty to Emperor and species, is still considered a strength of the Imperium."

The young man winced, but no punishment or reprimand seemed forthcoming. Was she actually conversing, opening up?

He'd heard bawdy tales of the legendary partnership between the great Ciaphas Cain and his aide Gunner Jurgen in the propaganda feeds but this...

"Cease grinning like some sort of fool, its unbecoming." And there was the jagged reminder. "The Major is too old and has risen too far in the Emperor's service to succumb to such base prejudice, meaning a matter of temperament? We require advisors and leaders, not sycophants. The Paragonian holds rank and role according to the tenets of the Tactica Imperialis, he cannot be seen deferring to me for every simple decision."

"Not so sure the Major sees it that way, Commissar."

Of course how could he? The old Tanker had to know that when it came down to just who the Imperial survivors, most of them anyway, looked to as a leader, Catriona Catelin was the clearest choice.

Lo Haley had, reportedly, ridden out the spat the Emerald Forest trapped in his fancy non-functional super heavy by a twist of malfunctioning hatch works. Protected from the foul creatures by several metres of thick plasteel, unable to rend aid in the fight.

A malfunction they'd, interestingly enough, curiously managed to see fixed just as the Atlas PDF arrived.

Meanwhile, Catelin had been in the thick of combat, organizing scattered squads of half broken Guard. Consolidating the remnants into something capable of surviving against all odds to the contrary, a semi-viable fighting force.

The troops knew her, what's more they respected her.

The Honored Major by contrast had spent much of his time reportedly among what remained of his own Regiment. Noticeably absent and seemingly content to let problems with other cultural groups sort themselves out...

"Perhaps it would've been more prudent to place a Cadian in command?"

"And potentially alienate those not of Cadian stock? The Catachan? Certainly the Paragonians? Unwise at this juncture, Trooper. Tensions are strained enough in the camp as things stand."

Her brow furrowed, a minor slip Lux was swiftly learning to read. She was well enough aware of the fine knife's edge Commissar's walked, and of how many bolts she had left for her weapon. Wherever that was now...

So many battle weary souls thrust into an unfamiliar, and certainly hostile, new world...that the situation hadn't collapsed entirely was a Throne-blessed miracle. The strength of order, of the Guard...but the grumblings of discontent we're already coming to a head.

Arguments and scuffles only the tip of the trench, then the rifts would begin to show in earnest...

' _Throne's grace preserve us if we reach that point...'_

"Though it is a concern, Lo Haley's meekness showed to the General, a shrewd man. He smells weakness, weakness we can ill afford at this juncture. Throne only knows when they'll ask us to account for that thrice-cursed Astartes."

The Astartes in question, the so-named ' _Flesh Tearer_ ' that had made an appearance during the conflict in the Emerald Forest only to disappear just as quickly upon the arrival of the Atlas-Vale Forces.

One heartbeat overwhelmingly present, the next simply gone.

Some in the Imperial Camp questioned and debatef whether the Space Marine had truly been their at all to begin with, wondering if in fact it was some maddened Grimm that had aided them. More uncertainties in a time where there were already so many to be had.

His actions and motivations as much a mystery as anything having to do with the Emperor's angels.

"Then how would you like to proceed, Ma'am?" Lux replied to the unspoken invitation only to receive a terse shake of the head, following Catelin's view towards a pair of Atlas PDF troopers.

 _'Of course it would be easier when we had something to shoot at...'_ The Trooper nodded and remained silent, side-eyeing an Abhuman female student as she passed with a group of others, likely her squad or ' _Team_ ' as the Scholamaster Ozpin had phrased it. _'This waiting, the politicking...'_

Ears like those of a Cadian plains hare sprouting from thick curtains of brown tresses, fingernails clinging to a boxlike picter device Lux only recognized from scant glimpses of aged propaganda pieces down passed around in the Underhives, gaze never leaving the two Imperials.

Catelin paid the creature no more mind than an insect beneath heel, but Lux couldn't resist a look back with narrowed eyes and a closed heart.

Yet for all Lux's efforts, he'd have only seen another worried scholam waif with a comely face and a lean figure if he removed the bestial appendages. A might bit timid for a tumble maybe, but nothing inherently heinous in her manner.

And that terrified him to his core...

These Faunus were unlike most variant strains of the sacred human form that he'd encountered in his short life, most of those being little more than spitting beasts. Though in truth he himself had been little better before the Guard claimed him, a half feral savage.

Still that teeming mass of freaks and zealots that had stood against the Imperium on the fields of Cadia, against his comrades, had seethed with an inner corruption that rooted to the genetic level. One could see their evil, their threat, plain as the day.

It felt _right_ to hate such monsters, they weren't people. More than that they defied humanity at every turn.

But these abhumans, by the history expressed by woman like that Yang doll's partner Blake Belladonna, had been present and even served important roles throughout this world's histories. Even if most of mankind seemed to adhere to a similar form of treatment and proper reverence for mankind's supremacy, and _only_ mankind, they were tolerated if not wholly accepted.

Yet the Faunus _acted_ human...

'... _Blessed God-Emperor, oh Keeper of Mankind, protect us_...'

In its own way, such was an all together worse offense. Their taint less evident despite the quirk of body.

A physical divergence perhaps similar to the Ogryn? Or was their a deeper deviancy lurking beneath as bestial as their appearance suggested.

This dangerous line of thought dogged his steps through the winding halls as he traversed the length of the Schola in perfect step a few paces behind the Commissar's harsh gait.

On and on it went until they came upon the disused schola space that Catelin had claimed, with Ozpin's grudging permission as a temporary Command HQ within the Schola's walls.

A glorified storage closet that smelled of mold and chemical unguents, guarded closely at all hours by rotating shifts of handpicked if unarmed Guardsmen each of differing regiments. A subtle if inspired tactic of acclimating each to the other presence.

This watch overseen by both a Cadian Shock Trooper in his drab olive flak armor as well as the unmistakable concealed visage of a Trooper from vaunted 'Death Korps of Krieg'. Not a patch of skin visible underneath heavy duty gloves, scarred carapace plate polished to a fine dull sheen, underneath a thick trench coat of dark fabric despite the generator-born heat of the building's interior.

If the Krieger gave any hint of discomfort at the temperature they gave no indication, not as far as Lux could make out at any rate at least. With the trademark skull faced gas mask by which Krieg's regiments were so well known obscuring their features. Emotion, age, even gender were all non-factors...a literally faceless soul of the Imperial Guard meant to stand as one among thousands, tens of thousands...

Even the way this one stood, utterly motionless like a devotional statue at Temple abulations, the thick wargear masking any signs of the Trooper' breathing.

Lux respected them, all Guardsmen who had heard of the Death Korps respected their peerless dedication and service history.

Didn't mean they didn't scare the piss out of him, fatalistic Frakkers they were.

His fellow Cadian evidently agreeing, hovering a few places farther from the Krieger than strictly necessary while still maintaining his post.

Despite this seeming awkwardness, both of whom were standing to strict attention as the pair approached. Weathering the confused looks of students and PDF alike, most eyes on the Korpsman and their markedly grim attire in contrast to the locals' brighter wear..

The space itself cleared out but for a cramped cot alongside an even smaller writing desk, one of Remnant's strange 'Scroll' data-slates, and a change of clothes in a florid array of styles that made it clear they were student donations of which Catelin hadn't even deigned to touch.

The worst offender in her mind a checkered skirt barely long enough to cover...well, the image of his Superior in such attire wasn't entirely without it's merits he supposed.

A fact Lux could, though would never dare, attest to given that the upkeep of personal arms and uh...sundries fell under his new role's purview. This and a host of other myriad tasks clerical and otherwise, dealing with matters that fell under the Commissar's notice but demanded less than her personal attentions.

She had more important concerns to trouble herself with than laundry after all. Like testing her new Adjutant for instance... _'...and figuring out how we're supposed to survive on this blighted death world...'_

"Apprise me of our current situation." Catelin removed her hat and coat, handing them off to the Trooper as she took a seat on the edge of the cot with dataslate in hand. "Log inload, personal transcription. Status of operation upon Unknown system "Remnant", day Seven, Terran standard."

Directed on cue, the servoskull that had seemingly attached itself on arrival floated down from the rafters with a gentle hum of gravitic thrusters. Hovering above her shoulder, red lenses staring ominously at the Adjutant, the right flickering every so often in its socket.

A disconcerting sight, so much so that Ozpin had already forbidden the little drone's use freely in the wider halls. Apparently it had produced negative psychological effect among students.

"Proceed. The last survivors of the Emperor's faithful have been recovered from the Forest, have they not?"

"Y-Yes, Ma'am!"

Lux fumbled with his burden, drawing the data-slate provided him with Team RWBY's compliments from a pocket in his worn vest. A true miracle of machinery, even if it had taken more than a few grumbling hours with Joy-Girl to divine its use.

So much available information, the sheer volume simply too staggering to consider...'Grimm', 'Kingdoms', 'Faunus', 'White Fang', all at the click of a holographic key.

"Including ourselves, the Sister, Stahl, and...and the Psyker..." He shivered involuntarily, well aware of the weakness of the motion, "...our last census puts us at three hundred and eight souls including wounded, drawn from well over half a dozen individual regiments stationed on the surface of or in orbital proximity to Cadia during the assault on Kasr Rantik with Cadians holding as the majority. All report seeing heavy combat with the frakking...with the Archenemy, before suddenly appearing within the Emerald Forest after..."

After events should have seen them all dead. Lo Haley and his tanks had been en route to the Fortress World when their transports warp drive had reportedly malfunctioned, the Catachan had been in the middle of harrying runs on the field, even a pair of Navy flyboys going down with their Valkyrie.

Those and a hundred other stories each less hopeful than the last...

"Three hundred and eight." It was difficult not to hear the bitterness in tone, despite the attempt to keep her voice even. "Barely above company strength, and even that's pushing it dearly. And our equipment, heavy support?"

Oh Throne, the best news... "Limited, seems our mechanized elements didn't quite take to our sudden arrival quite as smoothly as we did, suffering adverse effects. Enginseer Gundy of the Cadian 185th Armoured reports catastrophic damage both physical and psychological, her words. Many of the Machine Spirits having been rendered comatose if not outright destroyed or corrupted during the crossing, if not sometime before."

Typical cogboy jargon, in simple terms it meant a vast swathe of steel and adamantium scrap lying useless in the Forest.

"Her thoughts?"

"If the Cog-Doll er...If Gundy I mean...If she had access to a proper Forgeworld, specialized care, maybe a few servitors, things might have well be different. As the situation stands..."

"I can't accept that, Brindle. Not now." There was no screaming, no shouting, no emotion whatsoever. It was a need, stated as simply as that. "The Enginseer has an abundance of resources available. Even dead, the carcasses might still have use. You informed her?" Lux nodded, ears still ringing at the memory of the equine faced Adept's rather vocal indignation at such a request.

"While quite uh... _vividly_ expressing her disquiet in the face of what she considers blatant blasphemy..." He shifted foot to foot awkwardly, folding the heavy coat and hat under one arm, "...the Adept states that, if permitted a few weeks time to the conduct proper rites of disassembly and reconsecration, she might just be able to rouse the Spirts of perhaps four of Chimeras and restore them to satisfactory battlefield readiness. Another month at least if you'd prefer she focus on restoring one of the more intact Leman Russ tanks. Even then, she can't guarantee the function of all weapon systems."

Intact being something of an operative term. Thankfully the Atlesians hadn't stumbled across _everything_ that had tumbled through on the Cataclysm's eddies. One thing to be thankful to the Catachan frakkers for, shockingly subtle despite looking like stunted Ogryn to a man.

"Wouldn't even entertain attempting to tackle the _Pillar_ or one of the downed Navy Valkyries without proper...?"

"A few weeks for a handful of half scrapped Troop Carriers or a month for a single tank?" Now there came the wrath, controlled and distilled of course to its most threatening elements. "Unacceptable. I need armour. _WE_ need armour."

"Gundy ain't a proper Tech Priest, Ma'am. Pardon my tongue, but she can't work frakking miracles like they can."

Not that the Cadian Adept Aspirant hadn't made the best attempt to emulate her Martian instructors in mannerism and deed, even so there was a limit to how much one could fake calm while on the edge of a nervous breakdown...

"Those're the best timetables available, and that's factoring in the time and effort to instruct what few volunteers she has in the proper rituals to be able to even lend a hand. The Atlesians offered but..."

"Absolutely not!" Her voice murdered the suggestion with a decapitating stroke, hand chopping through the air for emphasis. Curiously expressive the Commissar, another oddity he hadn't expected. "We're not that desperate, not yet."

He fidgeted again, the tight space suddenly feeling rather cramped all of a sudden.

"We need the armour for what, Commissar. Are you expecting another fight? With who, what's our target?"

He'd crossed a line, he was sure of it the moment he'd voiced the defiant question aloud. At any moment she was going to order him dragged from her presence or simply snap his neck then and there with her bare...!?

"I am not _expecting_ a fight, Brindle, merely preparing for one." Lux blinked, still somehow alive despite his folly. How odd, why was Catelin looking at him like that, approvingly? "The people of Remnant have proven generous, more than hospitable given the disturbing circumstances of our arrival and the corruption we brought with us, but they are not of the Imperum. They do not know the Emperor's will or enjoy the warmth of his divine light, they're methods strange, and thus they must be regarded with suspicion at least until their character can be called to account."

"Then why bother talking to them at all?"

"Because as much as I'd like to regain control of this madness, we are at a severe disadvantage." The Servoskull whirred, belching a thin strip of parchment from an under slung port beneath it's inset vox-emitter. "Tell me, Lux, how would you rate our chances if it came to open conflict? The Imperium versus say...Atlas and General Ironwood?" The use of his given name caught the Trooper off guard, stilling him for a few moments until she cleared her throat to urge him along. "Well?"

Lux thought to himself, weighed his options, then responded as he'd been bidden and she expected. Truthfully and without undue weight.

"We'd lose."

A simple enough statement, a silent urged invitation driving him to explain further.

"Their people's technology is remarkable and effective, even if the troops carting the gear are downright sloppy by our standards. Thing is we lack the numbers and the firepower, even if we did manage to get a hold of our weapons and wargear. Best we could do is try and take the Schola, fortify our position. Force them to either clear us out piecemeal or bring the structure down on top of us. Either way we make the frakkers and their servitor puppets dance for it."

It'd be even better if their wayward Astartes would make himself well... _less_ wayward. A member of the Emperor's finest, one of His Angels of Death, for one them to be acting so strangely in this hour of need...

"So you say we wouldn't win, but we could certainly hurt them?" Catelin considered the plan, not all together dismissing it which was a surprise and a worry all in one. "Simple, brutal, yet effective in its way."

"I'm no tactician, Ma'am." Lux snapped to salute as best as he was able, not doing quite so bad in his humble opinion. "I'm Guard, simple, brutal, yet effective is how we're trained to tackle problems."

He faltered in his bravado, thinking back to the Ursa Major and how easily Yang had flattened it. His gorge rising at the thought of the unnatural power.

"Then again, that's not taking into account that Aura Witchery of theirs. I don't know if we can face... _that_."

"You heard the words of the Psyker clear as anyone or so I recall." She chided, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the subject matter, or as uncomfortable as she'd ever allow herself to appear before her inferior. "Their Aura is a weapon like any other, it comes from within the individual somehow. It's not thing of the Warp."

No, it wasn't. At least if the Wych was to be believed, Aura was something that actively shielded the soul, enveloped it, empowered it. The little trog had used a lot of fancy flowery words and even then the explanation had come no closer to making any actual sense.

All the Commissar had focused on was the reassurance that Daemons weren't about to start possessing every Huntsman and Huntress in the vicinity.

Others hadn't been quite so generous...and had made their displeasure quite known. Bloody Sister, it had taken all of the Commissar's uncommon self control not to order her gagged, especially when the torchbearing Nun had started decrying the young woman as both coward and corrupt...

"You believe her, truly?" He tried not to sound so incredulous, and was certain he hadn't pulled it off.

"She's the best source of information we possess on the subject of aetheric phenomena, so yes I am inclined to trust the girl's statement until matters prove otherwise. A fact you should be profoundly thankful for."

"Ma'am?"

"Our Psyker relayed the honest account of your behavior within the Forest, up to and including her manipulation of your actions." Lux's blood ran cold, a shiver running down his spine. "That alone is why I didn't execute you for cowardice, despite abandoning your post. Why I deign to keep you by my side for close monitoring." Catelin explained, pulling at the strip of paper affixed to her hovering companion, giving the contents a thorough read through. Eyes purposefully not looking upon the sweating Guardsman before her.

"I...I see." He murmured, a bit deflated by the explanation.

"So yes, Brindle, you best hope it to be the truth, otherwise things are as you say. The meager Imperial Forces go to war against Remnant, we lose...and we die if we're fortunate. Though I assure you, you won't have to worry in that regard."

If she'd possessed her bolt pistol, Lux was certain she'd be caressing the worn grip about now.

"As it is often stated however, the best victories are often those bought at the cheapest cost in lives and material. At this juncture, cooperation with the locals is the answer that will see us through rather than conflict, we require allies."

Lux nodded along, still unnerved by her earlier threat but unwilling to show weakness. Weakness in the Underhives saw you gutted, even the illusion of strength better than none at all.

Even so... "These people deny the God-Emperor, they don't know of the Throne. Of Holy Terra..."

"As is the case on many such worlds lost to mankind by circumstance, a regrettable fact, but hardly an insurmountable one." She waved the concern aside, as though it meant little to nothing at all. "Ignorance can be corrected given time, but the first steps must be ours. For that, I'll be requiring your aid."

"Me?"

"Indeed, despite current difficulties with their Command structure, we should endeavor to remain a tolerated presence here at Beacon." Catelin crumbled the scrip, tossing it towards an overflowing bin full to bursting with similar missives. "The Xiao Long girl. You were acquainted, yes? On fair terms?"

"Yes...well, we were." Lux grimaced, cheek still aching after his last encounter with blonde Huntress.

If it could be called that much, once she'd learned the origins behind that little nickname of hers. She...hadn't approved much, understandably so and things had escalated, not without some fault on his end. He and his big mouth.

One crass comment had led to another, some shot about her hair or attire...the Trooper couldn't really recall. His memory somewhat vague, having been hurtling halfway across the room by that point.

Feisty lass could punch like an Ork when properly roused.

"I may have um...overstepped, Commissar. Mucked things up a tad..."

"Then un-muck it, Trooper. Consider it an order, _Ave Imperator_." Instinct and something further engrained even deeper strode to fore at those words, the Former Ganger's body snapping to attention automatically on reflex. The small miracles of the Magos Biologis... "A friend within the Schola could prove to be invaluable, certainly when its a curious adolescent looking to impress. Build a rapport, use her and her acquaintances if needs be. Anything they know might give us an edge in the months ahead."

"Months?" Lux knew he hadn't been meant to hear that part, his Lead cursing under her breath as she returned to her scroll. "Then the little Wych...!"

"Has, as of yet, detected nothing of use. Her ' _gifts_ ' unable to pierce the veil surrounding this planet and gaze beyond. Or so the Psyker claims in no less flowery vernacular."

She said the words through gritted teeth, despite the expressionless focus she devoted to whatever task the Commissar set herself to. The sting of having to depend so heavily on a mutant, on a Psyker, for scraps of intelligence obviously weighing upon her nerves.

"General Ironwood is growing suspicious, his people hounding us on all sides seeking how we obtain what little facts we have concerning this _'Cataclysm'._ She is the one advantage we hold. I need more if we're to hold ourselves... _WHAT_!?"

Lux almost dropped his laundry burden in the face of so sudden an outburst, the reason slowly coming to light as her free hand drifted to the comm-bead set into her ear.

"Ma'am?" The look used to silence him in that moment could've cracked adamantium and smote a hundred heretics where they stood.

"When was this, Corporal? I left express orders that she be supervised at all...who did!?" She said, after a few quick breaths which seemed to have little effect. "Have the Atlesians acted to...!? No...no, I ordered no such release to...to the Ogryn!? You bare-chested fools left her with the blasted...!?"

Catelin halted herself with supreme effort, remembering her earlier self-criticisms with a heady sigh. Moderating the heat of her temper into something akin to a glacial chill.

"...Very well Corporal, I do so hope you and your men realize that if any harm comes to...what?" The young woman's expression shifted drastically, her age showing through in wide eyes and open-mouthed shock.

It was human, not wholly unamusing or unattractive in it's way, stunned speechless.

And then the anger burned all of it away, fuel and kindling to stoke the inferno...

"What...What are you saying, you sent for **_whom_**!?..."

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Dining Hall, Vale)**

"...tanks for da' grub, Blondie!" Kobi bellowed between slavering mouthfuls, a meaty hand already reaching to snatch up another heaping helping of the Beacon Academy Kitchen's best before his other plate had even clattered to the tabletop. "Dey... _mmph-ah_...dey almost neva' feed us dis' good in da' Guard!"

"Haha no probs, Big Guy. Eat up, much as you like!" People all across the hall were starting to stare at their table, of course they were. "I mean you're friends of Lux, right? So are we...well kind've."

She frowned at that for a moment, Ozpin and Ironwood's insistence on getting close to the visitors however she could still fresh in her mind. Yang had rescued the Trooper like any Huntress was supposed to, had made a few friendly barbs back and forth during his recovery in the wards and she'd learned quite a bit.

Once they'd gotten past the whole _'What Emperor?_ ' question of course.

Still, it felt as though she wer being used and using him in turn...

Maybe that was why he'd stopped asking after her. Or maybe it was that Aura explanation...

 _'Then again, it could have something to do with you decking him for that whole 'Joy-Girl' bit. Yeah, could be...probably...jerk...'_

"Luxy? Yeff...mmhmm!" He nodded, leaking bits of meat and spittle down the front of his straining fatigues. "I knows Luxy. Funny little friend, makes me laugh." He guffawed, as though they'd needed an example.

It was actually sort've endearing, even if it did spray crumbs and worse over poor Pyrrha and Ren.

Yang leaned forward resting her chin on her palm, trying her best not to enjoy the scandalized look on the Ice Queen's face _too_ much as she took in their guest's abysmal table manners. She didn't think she was doing to good a job at it, weathering the Heiress' glacial glares every few minutes as though this had all been _her_ idea.

Well, in truth she _had_ been the one to stumble across the motley bunch trying fruitlessly to navigate the halls, and she _had_ been the one to invite them to lunch with everybody else...yeah, okay so maybe it was sorta her fault. Ah well...?

"Jeez, guy puts it away even faster than you do, Rubes." She spared a look-see over towards her little sister who sat beside the...Ogryph? Or was it Ogryn, yeah that sounded right. The leader of Team RWBY poking her head up from the veritable mountain of cookies she'd all but dived into.

Yang was gonna have to have a talk with the chefs on cutting her off, this habit was getting out of hand.

"Nh fhnr, he'f bigga...!?" Ruby tried to bite back mid cookie vacuum only to start retching when one of the confections got sucked down the wrong pipe as it were. A certain blonde knight attempting to leap to the rescue, clapping the girl on her back unsuccessfully as her legs flailed helplessly. "Nht liek thif! Nhot... _phah_!...Nnt... _Not like this_...!"

Pyrrha looked ready to reach across the table and assist, but Weiss put a hand on her shoulder and eased her back, face flushed with embarrassment yet resigned all in one. "She'll be fine, the dolt needs to learn her manners somehow." Harsh, but after weeks of etiquette lessons and failed study sessions maybe this was Weiss' deserved payback. "Give her a moment."

And a moment was all it took, Yang had to admit even she was impressed. Even if Jaune sort've cheated, thumping his smaller friend's back.

The young huntress coughed in sudden relief, drawing in a deep steadying breath to clear her airways before turning to her savior. "Phew...thanks, Jaune. Almost thought I was a goner ther... _ **uwaaagh**_!?"

Kobi apparently wasn't quite as swift on the uptake, or thought the game hadn't yet ended, either way the single blow he landed across her back was enough to drive her face first into the cookie pile in an explosion of freshly baked shrapnel and a sound like an artillery shell.

Suffice it to say casualty figures were high, Vomit Boy and nigh everyone else in the vicinity falling back out of their seats in their rush to get clear.

In contrast, the remainder of RWBY remained semi-calm. Yang having to lean back clutching at her sides, Weiss face palming spectacularly, and Blake using her novel as a rampart to weather the barrage. And all the while Nora was cackling and clapping her hands asking for a repeat.

All in all, just another day of antics at Beacon.

"Uh...Did I win?" Kobi said blinking, peering down at the barely stirring Rose. "Don't know da' rules."

"Yeah, yeah you won hard, Big guy."Yang had to take almost a full minute to stifle her laughter before she could nod and congratulate his grinning self, by which time most everyone in the hall had returned to some semblance of normalcy. "Think you might've bit off more than you could chew there, Sis."

Ruby groaned whether from the hit or the joke Yang wasn't quite sure, Picked herself up out of the impact zone. Her face a smeared gooey mess of chocolate and crumbs but given that she was already trying to lap at the mess she was probably alright...probably.

"Dat's nice, not too good at games." Kobi shrugged his broad shoulders, reaching to scoop up some of the more intact pastries. "Other Guard not let me play much, too smart for em' dey' say."

"Well, that seems more like the Imperium's loss now does it?" Blake said, closing the book she'd had her face glued in since the meal started with a loud _*snap*._ "Typical, just typical."

Of all of them, the Faunus had seemed the most interested in what scraps of information they'd managed to wheedle from the now illusive rather Lux over the past week since their little eh...cultural ' _misunderstanding_ '.

All manner of bits and pieces regarding the strange and frankly terrifying galaxy he and his fellow Guardsmen had fallen away from.

Though where Yang had been interested in the scarily long list of extra-terrestrial threats like the Greenskinned Orks or the scheming Eldar, Ruby in their weird er... _interesting_ habit of burning incense over their equipment, and Weiss in the modes of governance and various resources utilized by Mankind, Blake had been more curious in the state of ' _Mankind_ ' itself.

Sadly what she'd heard didn't match up to her expectations, not that the blonde couldn't agree with her.

' _Abhumans_ ', ' _mutants_ ', ' _unclean_ ', words to describe anything not inherently ' _human_ '. Tales of people slaving away in the work forces to support a thousand thousand wars upon worlds they would never see, consuming whole worlds body and soul...Easy enough to see what she was comparing too so bitterly.

If a supposedly advanced culture still hadn't managed to fix such matters...

"Then I don't suppose you'll be able to tell us anything more about what this 'Storm' really is? Lux...'Luxy' seemed to have no idea, but your smarter than he is, aren't you, Kobi?" Yang blinked away a sly look at her partner. The cat Faunus pointedly ignoring her as she plumbed the source. Even affecting a sisterly smile that had the big man rosy round the cheeks, clever girl. "It seems so important, shouldn't we know what to look out for?"

"Well um...uh...don't look too close at da sky. Dat's wat' da Commissar says, and wat she says goes. Can't talk bout' it too, Commissar says...sorry." Blake probably wasn't too thrilled by the stock standard reply, knowing how determined she could be with a string of yarn in sight. The Ogryn shrinking back in his seat a bit, causing undue strain upon the wooden bench and dangerously upsetting that whole side of the table. "I says I was sorry."

"And we get it, big guy, we do. 'Commissar says' right?" Yang spoke up before the whole table flipped, bringing the smile back to Kobi's bulbous features. "Its just that's what everyone says, right? Thing is its kinda tough not to notice when this _Cataclysm_ thing takes up half the sky, y'know?"

"Pretty much what I said." A mousy voice piped up, sounding off wearily, "Whoever this 'Commissar' is, she's a royal pain in the backside, excuse for everything."

"Seems like it." Blake nodded her head, evidently in agreement before settling back languidly to stare at her new target. "So, if you don't mind me asking...Who exactly are you again? I don't think we got your name."

The bedraggled blue haired woman started at being addressed directly despite it being her own fault, having been content with sticking close to the Ogryn's shadow. Still picking bits of cookie out of her clothes though they were already so dirtied by mud and grass stains Yang wasn't sure why she even bothered. "M-Me?" She motioned to herself, trying to sit up straight and dignified before younger peers, or as much as one could with twigs and leaf sap tangled about her face. "Right uh...Right, me! Yes, my name is...!"

"Ciane Skye...a blue sky, blue...blue like the skies above. So blue..."

The older woman was cut off by a dull cadence delivered in a child's sing-song mutterings, all eyes along the table swiveling almost in unison towards their source.

A small girl with hazel eyes and copper colored curls that clung in lank clumps to her chin around Weiss' size, waif thin to the point her skin seemed as paper in dirtied green robes far too large for her frame, sat beside her compatriots picking at a thin plate of food with a noticeable absence of emotion. A dull brass charm of heavy make in the vague shape of an eye clinking against her chest.

'Nell', she recalled...Yang remembered her from the fight in the Emerald Forest as being the one Lux had been protecting from Grimm.

He'd faced down an Ursa Major for her, but when he'd come too it was as if he couldn't bear the sight of the young thing.

If anything he'd seemed terrified beyond reason when the blonde had informed him she would be alright in the next bed over. Almost falling out of the bed in his attempts to gain distance.

It didn't make sense...nor did the fact that she was denied visitors. What the hell was a 'Psyker' supposed to be, and why were men that looked like they could chew through steel and eat Beowolves for breakfast pissing themselves at the thought of her.

Yang had hoped when she saw her finally free from the guarded confines of hospital that she might learn more, only to find that little Miss Nell was certainly...odd.

"...a seeker of secrets to spill to the world, a Reporter for Vale News Network recently...' _fired_ '?" She sounded out the unfamiliar phrases carefully, mixing in monotone pieces of information bit by bit like reading the back of a CD or from a textbook. "Fired, yes. At twenty-five years of age, bereft of intimate companionship for the last eight months, seven days...and so...' _single_ '?"

A blush rose to vibrant life across her delicate features, one perfectly mirrored by Miss Skye oddly enough. Cute...

"The Storm of souls seethes, dampening some noises, bolstering others in the Song...so loud, so _loud_." Nell reached for a cookie, bringing it to her face and sniffing at it like some kind of animal before nibbling at the edges carefully. "...A shadow hidden in plain sight, changing for her people. She sits she sits...mind astray to a poisoned love that cannot be reme...!" Mouth full, much of her monologue was lost in muffled chewing and moans of delight, swiftly growing nonsensical.

"Oh...well then..." The Faunus eased back somewhat put off and trying not to show it, glancing between the girl and Yang as if she would have any idea what was going on. Which she didn't, of course. When did she become the expert on all things Alien...uh _sorta_ alien? "So she's not...you're not Imperial, then?"

 _'Yep, definitely another weird one...'_ Yang wondered, the slightest flicker of trepidation creeping up her spine as Nell looked up at her, cocking her tiny head to the side like a puppy. A dangerously weird puppy, still adorable though in a horror movie-ish sort've way.

"Imperial? I-I mean that's...yes, b-b-but how would she...!?" Ciane struggled to form the right words, edging away from the smaller girl and inadvertently reaching for Kobi's reassuringly solid bulk. The Ogryn too busy enjoying his cookies to notice. "How _could_ you possibly know all...!?" Nell twitched, startling the reporter and everyone else at the table.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Blake had noticed an instant before anyone else, her head turning towards an evident disturbance at the door the moment Nell's face screwed up tight.

It was obvious something was wrong, made even more evident by the splitting migraine that seemed to be afflicting everyone within a few feet of the Psyker at least going by the sudden outburst of whining grunts and groans. Kobi shaking the whole of the table as he collapsed with meaty palms pressed to his ears, thick tears streaming down pudgy cheeks.

 _ **-("...She comes, she comes! the Wrath of the Throne comes, burning a trail in zealous hate...")-** _It was quite like someone had put a glass box of nails in Yang's skull and started rattling them all about, tossing in a Boarbatusk for good measure. **_-(...Unsure yet unbowed, heretics surround, mutants and abhumans abound, scum to burn...burn...burn...!)-_**

It was a pressure building, the air smelling curiously like a mixture of gasoline and incense, before the feeling vanished almost as suddenly as it had come.

All close by, even at the other tables, stunned into various states of disorder while Nell continued murmuring furiously to herself, trembling. The only sounds that of confused students and the whimpering Ogryn.

"Wha...?" Jaune picked himself up from where he had fallen to the floor, massaging his pounding skull and glancing at them all with bleary eyes. "Guys? What...What was _that_?"

The Knight would never receive an answer, crying out as arms corded with muscle encased in ebon war plate snatched hold of the Huntsman-In-Training roughly by the hood and tossed him aside into the table next to theirs. A flash of edged metal sailing past Yang's face, clipping a few golden hairs as it went.

Voices rising up in alarm as the boy skidded over the wooden surface in a spray of cutlery and splattered food and from behind, a dinner knife embedding itself to the hilt between a mortified couple. But one pronouncement rose to eclipse them all, ringing through the dining hall with the force of a clarion bell.

 _"Et gloria est Deus Imperator! Sit gloria domine Martyres!"_

A tone distinctly feminine, burning with a fervor that would've made even the White Fang think twice.

The flash of a tattered crimson tabard billowed about a powerful frame encased in dented and thoroughly abused battle plate that would've left any artificer weeping in horror. Cropped white hair of such stark shading it could only have been dyed as opposed to Weiss' gentle hues, ocean blue eyes that seemed to bore into Yang's with the weight of judgment above a bleeding nose.

 _"_ Surrender to me the Wyrdvane Wych and the Abhuman, _Heretics!"_ The teenager decried, pointing at their table as though that single act might set them all aflame. Maybe she actually expected it too, she seemed mad enough. "Do so now, or suffer His judgment at the hand of this, His loyal servant!"

Yang sort've checked out then, vaguely aware of Pyrrha scrambling up, her friends caught between reaction and panic. All she saw was red, and a target to vent it on...

 _'Okay...'_ Her gloved hand caught the falling hairs, all the better to see those murdered golden tresses settling against the dark fabric. _'...now I'm officially peeved...!'_

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 **A/N: You heard it folks, Yang be peeved. Dragon versus Sister.**

 **Anyway that's another chapter down, gonna try and focus on the Beacon stuff for a bit and move stuff along. Know I've gotten a few complaints on the number of characters (which is quite valid) so I'll try and keep them focused with vignettes on the side most likely, and I'll try to make it clear as I can who is who.**

 **Know this was more of a chatting chapter, lay out the imperial situation on Remnant. Hoping it was somewhat interesting but as always feel free to let me know what you think, makes the story better.**

 **On a Canon note, nice to see Adam going the Khornate route all on his own, and all that Salem stuff...as I've said, this story will have different stuff, quite different. Being a Chaos God will do that for ya, I think.**

 **Also released another crossover -Remnants of Remnant-. Pretty much Remnant or what's left of it during the Great Crusade. Not sure how far it'll go but was generally using it as a way to practice writing the Grimdark atmosphere, would appreciate any notes there if people are so inclined.**

 **Till next time, stay good everybody! - Mojo**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 13 - In One's Own Head -  
**

* * *

 _ **Been on a death world once.**_

 _ **That**_ _ **was a bit like home. Most places are better, though. And there's regular rations.**_

 _ **We get more if the Emperor's really pleased with us.**_  
– Sergeant-Ogryn Hrathlagg on the joys of life in the Imperial Guard

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Dining Hall, Vale)**

" _Jaune_!?"

Pyrrha was on her feet immediately, ready to leap to her partner's side but hesitated at the last upon catching sight of his attacker.

Not that Yang would have blamed her much if she'd been of any mind too, not with that manic youtful gleam in the other woman's eyes that promised retribution with an altogether foreign sort of fervor to just about anything based on Remnant.

Religion had its place of course, a faith in the gods or ancestors, but in such an era of peace Zealotry of this kind was almost unheard of.

"Stand against me, girl, and know you stand against a servant of the God-Emperor, Beloved of all!" She promised, standing to her full impressive height. A stature bolstered by the suit of metal she wore, voice raised half in threat, half in exultation. Ringing out so that every soul in the dining hall would hear her purpose and obey. " _Ego tenetur per suam voluntatem_! I am Delphine, Sister of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, and you _will not_ interfere in my task! Surrender the Psyker!"

"Psyker, what are you...!?" Blake made to stand, faltering a moment under the Imperial's notice. "What in the gods names are you talking about!?"

"The girl, heretic!" Delphine spat, pent up indignation and fervor almost driving her to turn her fury upon the black-clad girl. "Keep your filthy heathen idols from this!"

Hers was the fierce burning blue stare and disgusted scowl of one who was utterly certain of the rightness and righteousness of their actions, and that certainty was terrifying.

Honed iron shod muscle rippled as she took on a fighting stance, evident even through the cold depth-less plate, subtle servos whirring with the motion. A body fashioned by a lifetime's trials to bear the weight of faith, and tools to shatter the bones of the heretical into powder.

Yang Xiao Long, for her part at least, didn't notice any of this.

Not really, not until she was halfway through leaping across the table in a spray of smashed porcelain and foodstuffs, hurtling towards the glorified Nun with a fist drawn back and a roaring snarl on her lips. Fist closing around strands of spun gold, cruelly cut.

Even if she had, she could hardly have cared less. Psykers, Emperors, Sisters...none of it mattered...the only thing that did was the need to vent on this hair killing monster that dared think to bully her friends.

Violet gave way to searing crimson as she gave into the red haze, delighting in the flicker of uncertainty playing across the other woman's features at the sight. Banished in an instant behind the stolid mask of faithful indifference, but the pause _had_ been there, of that she was as sure as anything.

The Huntress would prove it too, right after she was done bludgeoning the other woman's teeth through her skull. Threatening her friends, harming her precious mane, **dEcLaring fooLishLy FOr thE CrIPpLed AnaThEma LAnguIshing UpOn It'S BreaKing seAt iN ingloRioUs aGoNy**...Yang would show her in blood, snap her bones, break her... ** _bReAKIng, MaiMinG, TeaRINg,_ crUnCHinG...!?**

 _'Wait...WHAT am I..._!?'

Now it was Yang's turn to balk, her mind freezing up at the unfamiliar rush of savage malice tinting her thoughts and emotions a bloody red. Imagination and stomach churning at the angry burning heat building in her skull threatening to burn away all else.

Her body swiftly following suit, landing awkwardly and stumbling over her feet mid charge as previously charged muscles spasmed. One arm flailing to try and regain balance while the other clutched at her forehead. A feeling all together different from the painful thrumming sensation from earlier, and far _far_ worse in its subtlety...no, not 'subtlety'.

Nothing about _that_ had been subtle, but it had been so easy to accept...and that half understood realization left Yang hesitating...

An advantage Delphine was swift to capitalize on, snatching hold of the blonde Huntress' out flung wrist and twisting so sharply the Sister was secretly stunned the bone didn't snap in her armored grasp as she'd fully expected it would.

Aura sparking, needles of white hot agony still shot down the limb, force a hissing gasp from Yang's lips before she found herself soaring in the air yet again, this time unwillingly.

The world of the dining hall flipping end over end for a few disorienting heartbeats before she crashed bodily into a groggy Jaune Arc. Both Hunters tumbling off onto the stone floor in a pile of leftovers, thrown with augmented strength and none too subtle disgust.

Not so bad though, the Knight having been chivalrous enough to cushion her fall, even inadvertently. But it still hurt as though she'd taken a punch from an Ursa. She'd know.

The pain brought her Semblance to the fore, a spreading of golden-hued warmth at odds with the feverish buzzing behind her eyes. A comforting blanket moving to smother a brush fire...a weird metaphor but that was the best she could describe it as. The anger receding...not leaving entirely no, she was still pissed beyond all belief...but it was _her_ anger.

 _Her_ fury, not...not whatever the hell that other sense had been before...whatever that had been. Thoughts for later.

"Agh...S-Sorry bout' that, Vomit Boy..." She patted the now thoroughly stunned Arc lightly, happily receiving the pained grunt as an invitation to jump back on her feet and shake her mane free of mashed potatoes and who knew what else, clapping her fists together.

Delphine, distracted as she was, hardly gave notice to the blonde's sudden recovery. Too busy trying to extricate the quivering Psyker from a now thoroughly panicked Kobi's grasp. The Ogryn probably not even sure of what he was doing or why, spooked out of his wits by pain and the madness of the situation, his simple mind clinging onto the last 'order' he'd received on instinct.

To protect Nell, to keep her close and from harm, of which the Sister more than seemed to qualify at the moment. Her face twisted into a scowl as ugly as a Beowolf's leer.

" _Ne vadas!_ Let go you Abhuman mongrel! You shameful abomination, I am your better! Cease!"

"Nuh uh! Nuh uh!"

Unfortunately for Nell, the young Pskyer found herself being tugged about like a rag doll between good intentioned but brutally powerful Abhuman muscle and uncaring religious zeal bolstered by archaic artifice, a struggle she bore in chilling silence despite her limbs threatening to part from their sockets. Even her face was passive, pensively staring off into nowhere and everywhere at once...no, towards the Storm. She was looking at the storm just visible outside the window.

Ruby and the others could do little more than stand by and watch in horror, unsure of quite how to react without making the situation worse. If they acted too suddenly, scared either side, the girl might just wind up torn apart. To make matters worse, shouts and jeers from others in the hall began to filter in, blending together in a maddened cacophony threatening to spill over into something terrible...

Students influenced by the spectacle, and perhaps something deeper. More insidious...

"Graaagh... _Cease,_ damn you! Or by the Throne, I _will_ see you...!?"

Yang's fist cut her Delphine spectacularly, a stray tooth pinging off of a shrieking Weiss's forehead and knocking the heiress backwards off the bench as the blow cleaved into the side of the Sororitas' thick jaw and propelled the Sister of Battle right off her feet and through the nearest table. The * _crack_ * of splintering wood booming through the space like a cannon shot under the weight of all that metal, startling the hall into stunned silence.

Even Kobi had settled back into a nervous looking crouch on his haunches, cradling the shivering Psyker like a cherished teddy bear. "...The Dragon wakes, the Dragon wakes, the Dragon wakes..." Nell muttered again and again and again...

"Heh...Cease _that!"_

Yang shook out her hand with a snarl of vindictive grinning triumph, spitting out gobbet of bloodied phlegm in the Sister's direction. Silently wondering when she'd bitten the inside of her mouth? She hadn't felt a thing, the coppery metallic tang oddly sour on her tongue.

"Or better yet, how bout you just do us all a favor and shut it!"

"Uh, Yang?" Her eyes drifted to the rest of her Team, from her little sis, the thumbs up she'd been meaning to curling into a fist as something stirred within the table's wreckage.

 _'No way, that hit should've floored her easy...I didn't feel an Aura!...'_ She'd held back of course, but that impact would've been more than enough to make even a Boarbatusk think twice. _'What's with that getup...!?'_

"Uh...Yang!?"

The half-hearted smirk vanished at Ruby's attempted warning, replaced quickly by a tight lipped grimace at sight of the Sister staggering free from the mess.

Wargear covered head to foot in fresh compost, that white disgrace she called a hairdo stained an oily brown by gravy, and half her olive face purple with mottled bruising...what should've been an amusing or sorry sight quickly became something to make even Yang Xiao Long blink.

"L-Look." She said with feeling, straightening up with her voice raised, doing her best to sound confident. Realizing the situation, someone had to be responsible, seeing as Goodwitch was already likely to string them all up anyway. "Earlier, that was me. I got... _heated_." Blake clapped a hand to her face, Weiss outright gaping in disappointed unbelief. "Sorry, sorry...Delphine was it? Look, you didn't deserve that, my bad but to be fair you started this. Let's just...!?"

 _"Malefica auream!_ " Delphine growled low like an approaching hound in that strange lilted language she and some of the other Imperials used. A gauntlet reaching up to pluck another bloodied molar from her mouth, an act that left every sane soul in the Hall wincing.

For her part, the Sister hardly even blinked, blue eyes boring into disturbed but resolute lilac.

" _You_...You'll pay for that, _Wychkin whore!_ "

Silence reigned at the insult, none quite sure they'd heard right, none but Yang. Her eyes, once shining with the attempt at conciliation, rapidly fell into the shadows cast by her mane. The only sound the * _krik-crack*_ of popping knuckles in painfully slow succession.

"Ooookay bitch..." The blonde slowly brought her hands together, and the next time the hall caught a glimpse, all they saw was fiery crimson... "... _NOW_ you deserve...!"

* * *

 _"...it!?"_

Lux cursed sinfully, throwing a few more insults in for good measure as he fell back away from the wide set of wooden double doors he'd been about to shoulder open.

The carved portals shuddering as though caught under the sway of distant artillery fire...in fact perhaps not so distant.

"Emperor's bloody teeth..." Fearful screams echoed from beneath cracks followed swiftly by a * _ **BOOM** * _that rattled windows in their panes and had debris sprinkling from high above. A drawn out roar that would've put a Greenskin to shame following shortly afterwards. "Pox riddled son of a grox..."

Throne, he'd already had to reassure several others shouting over the comms that " _No, they weren't under frakking attack!",_ of course delivered far more respectfully and with proper vox discipline when the Commissar chimed over the line demanding updates of his progress.

She wanted answers, she wanted her Psyker, and she wanted them both _NOW._

Of course he hadn't expected he'd be stepping into a Throne-cursed war zone to see it done. It was supposed to be simple, track the rumors from curious or mystified students, find the Psyker before she did something they'd all regret. Simple...easy...

And it would be far easier if those bucket bin Atlesian disgraces to a uniform hadn't nabbed his Long-Las when they'd hauled him out of the woods.

An Imperial Guardsman without his weapon, even a scavenged one, simply wasn't whole.

 _'...Somehow I bet Gunner Jurgen never really had to deal with these sort've demands from Cain...'_ He lamented with a beleaguered sigh, pushing the door open just in time to earn a face full of slimy charred vegetation courtesy of a salad bowl exploding, throwing shrapnel every which way.

A lucky break really, several of the sharpened ceramic shards had found themselves buried deep in the doorway to his immediate left.

Lux couldn't know any of this at a glance of course, but he did know enough from the scene to discern the likely reason...or _reasons_ behind it.

"Frakking Throne of Terra...!"

Beacon's Grand Dining Hall, once as impressive as any other room in the Schola's fortress Team RWBY had seen fit to show him, was now a smoking abattoir of ruination and culinary slaughter. Long tables overturned, tossed about, or otherwise shattered as though a rabid Grox had rampaged through the place in a blood froth.

Portals holed in large sections if not shattered in their entirety, casualties of flying benches and foodstuffs. The food itself, or what was left of it, splattered for several meters along the walls, some shreds of tattered fowl hanging in lumpy dripping chunks along the ceiling, some seeming to be on fire or smoldering as they swayed.

Students huddled about one another in scattered groups, innocents hunkering down in whatever bastions of cover and safety afforded to them. Many hadn't been so fortunate, barely stirring bodies littering piles of devastated dishware and broken wood chips. Tossed, having gotten in the way no doubt

"Lux!?"

The Guardsman blinked, a lifetime spent living in bustling tunnels and crowded byways allowing him to pinpoint the source of his name even through the **_*CRASH*_** of more smashing plates and clanging cutlery, spoken in shrill squeaking surprise.

A small figure wrapped in a fluttering food spattered crimson robe sheltering behind the overturned remains of a table top along with a few others...the shy one in black with the fancy ribbon, the Snow Heiress seemingly in shock, Vomit Boy and his Warrior Woman partner, the scary breakfast girl and... "Quick! Find cover before they see you!" As if he hadn't been scrambling to do just that on reflex the moment danger sounded, training serving him well.

"Rosie? What are you...!?" Something collided hard with the wall, almost buckling the doors behind him. All together more than enough to send Lux diving for the floor once more. "Throne frakking frakker...Joy Girl?"

He peeked up and behind, understandably somewhat stunned to see Yang Xiao Long in all her golden glory picking herself up from the wall, clothes to ripped tatters and hair and eyes almost literally alight.

Not an all together terrible sight by any margin, and not one he'd be quick to forget. His jaw aching once more at the memory of the last time he'd seen her eyes go red.

Witchery or not, this Aura nonsense put the fear of the Emperor in him in a way few things did.

 _Catelin, Psykers, Faunus, Yang, Aura, Grimm..._

Not a bad list, and he'd even proved he could kill the latter.

"Hot Shot?" The Huntress faltered, eyes flickering lilac for a fraction of a heartbeat before her temper stole over once more. "Did you just cal mel... _grr_! Forget it, outta the way!"

"Joy... _Yang_ , what in Terra's name is...!?"

"You are rather stubborn, Wychkin. I'll grant you _that_ much." A table shifted aside violently, proving little obstacle to the speaker.

Glass cracked near his head, turning him back round to see a mailed ebony heeled boot, eyes slowly drifting upwards to take in the brutal curves of the Adepta Sororitas standing overhead outlined in sun and gleaming cooking oils. Her sparse dyed hair matted and her face a mess of bruises and blood from a broken mouth and several tears in her lip.

From where he sat it might have actually been a rather scandalous position if she'd been in anything less than creaking battle plate, and if he couldn't feel the blood skirting from his face with a subtle gulp.

" _That thou shouldst spare none...That thou shouldst pardon none..._ For such interference in the Emperor's work, such disgrace, you shall face judgement in...!"

"Oh give it a rest! Emperor this, judgement that...blah blah _blah_! _"_ Yang performed a lewd gesture with one hand, rolling her shoulder with a scowling grimace. "Give it a rest already! No one cares!"

"You...You _dare_...!?" It was hard to tell what emotion was gripping the Sister, probably indignation...yep, going with that.

"Course I dare, see the room? Lot of daring here!" The blonde motioned to the wrecked space grandly, "Good thing we're here too, cause you're about to get _served!"_ Again those weird phrases of hers, and always the groaning afterwards from her cowering team. Remnant was a strange place, of stranger humors.

 _' **Yang** , **Battle Sisters** , Catelin, Psykers, Faunus, Aura, Grimm...yep, yeah that sounds more fair...'_

Then why by the Emperor's name was he clambering up between the two women? Hands raised between them. His unarmed unarmored body, between women that could probably tear apart metal and shatter bones with an afterthought...

Frak him, frak this mess, frakkity frakking frak...this was his duty, his orders and Lux was compelled to see them through, his thoughts curiously blank. _Ave Imperator...Ave Imperator..._

"Stand down, both of you!" His voice was clear, the indoctrinated trigger doing a fair job of stealing the fear from his tone. Keeping him upright and calm in service to Emperor and Imperium. "Right now!"

"Hot Shot? Sister here's the one who attacked _us_!" Yang shoved an accusing finger towards the Sister and then motioning to her team, not that Lux had much trouble believing their side. His blood was just boiling too much for him to care by this point. "She started it!"

"Well I guess I'm ending it, then! For Throne's sake, Blondie...!"

"Oh so now it's 'Blondie', huh?"

Of course it...wait, was she angry he'd called her something other than...what frakking sense did that make!?

Be stubborn? He gets yelled at! Try and learn? He gets yelled at...!?

"Hmph, the Commissar's creature...begone!" Sister Delphine regarded the argument and the Guardsmen attributed to it as one might a dune mite splattered across a Salamander transports canopy, dismissing Lux just as thoroughly. "The situation is well in hand under the Ecclesiarchy's purview, Trooper Brindle. Grant me but a moment and I will have this irritant dealt with and the Psyker secured."

 _"'Well in hand'?_ " He looked about at the devastation surrounding them with a bark of laughter, surprisingly brave of him truth be told. It might well have easily been a squeak, he couldn't be sure. "Look at this place! Greenskins leave more intact! Where even is the Pskyer in all this mess, do you know!?"

No, she didn't. That much was clear at a glance.

" _You_...You dare question my authority in this matter!?"

Damned effective at what they did, those Sisters of Battle. Damned effective indeed at matters both of war and of more spiritual matters, immovable, cold, on the outside anyway.

Another interesting fact Lux had learned in his short tenure in the Command echelons had been that the Sisters...at least this one, were as easy to read as blushing maids at a bordello.

No subtlety, so dramatic too...

"Yes, with the authority of the Commissar, I guess I do!" He was dead, pissing away his good fortune, all the Nun had to do was raise a mailed fist... "Because if the Mutie has so much as a bleedin' scratch on er'...!?" Wonderful, the conditioning chose this instance of all things to start faltering. Incoherent gutter speak spilling from his lips in a deluge of curses that had Delphine taking a step back in fervent revulsion.

At least until something drew both Imperial's attentions.

Debris shifted, an adjusting pile among many in the loud aftermath of the spat that had made the room its arena. Yet both their eyes, the Guardsman's and the Sisters, turned as one drawn by an echo beyond hearing.

To Lux's sighing relief/terror, it seemed the Ogryn had done his duty well and kept the diminutive Trog intact. The abhuman shouldering a table off his slab of a back, Nell and some unfamiliar woman sporting ragged knots of brilliantly blue hair cowering in his shadow.

"Dah...Luxy? When'd you...ouchie..." The ogryn massaged his empty skull, having the good grace to look a bit guilty. It seemed as though whatever witchery that had compelled him was starting to fade.

Of course looking at Lux, what did that even mean?

" _There_!" The Sororitas declared grandly, sweeping a hand towards the bedraggled trio of food-fight survivors with tacit superiority. " _Imperatoris praebet_ , the God-Emperor provides...in all things. As is proper!"

'As is proper'...of course.

At the moment Lux thought the Master of Mankind could do with providing him a break from all of this frak. Gift him a proper enemy to fight, simple orders to follow, and a loyal world beneath his boots...Cadia preferably but by this point...

"Kobi, you a'right? The brain case intact, both of em'...of them?" The trooper took a moment to collect his thoughts, falling back into proper step even knowing the conditional slip had been noticed by the wary blonde standing behind him, not to mention the twice-blasted Nun in front.

 _"_ Ugh...Luxy, yep yep she good."

Kobi bent down and scooped up his charges, the pair of them by the backs of their clothes. Blue didn't seem thrilled though had resigned herself to the treatment with quivering whimpers.

The Psyker dangling disconcertingly by the scruff of its robes like a lupine cub in its mother's maw. Those glazed hazel eyes boring into his, sending a shudder prickling down his spine.

"Hehe...Not a scratch, did good right?"

Yang let out an involuntary chuckle at the scene, almost a giggle of all things seemingly unable to help herself. Delphine for her part wasn't so amused.

"' _Good'_!? You blighted abhuman waste of...!?" Servos whined and growled as she made to advance on them, the Ogryn flinching back like he'd been struck with his precious cargo dangling, Lux heading her off with a Guardsman's nerve.

"Right, Kobi, ya did real good. Now I need ya to take the girl and... _er_ , who is that by the way?" He pointed to the very noticeable non-Psyker in attendance, Kobi hefting her up with a wide gap-toothed grin.

The Catachan bastards who'd screwed this whole mess up to begin with had mentioned something about a blue haired doll who seemed very much _not_ a student getting dragged along for the ride. Course they'd already been laughing and cursing their way out of the building before pointing to anything more useful than a trail to follow. Bleeding death worlders...

"Ah...You know what, just keep er', we'll sort it out later. Commissar wants to see you back at Camp Primus, double time."

"Nuh uh!"

Said blue doll squeaked something that might've been a denial, Lux didn't care and the meaning was lost in the worried whine the child-giant let loose. Lux quickly bringing a hand up, in one part to try and ease the Ogryn in place as he quivered like a massive stump in an quake, another part to keep the Sister from doing something they'd all regret. More than she already had at any rate.

"Commisah mad, she scary! Yell at me lots!"

"No no...I mean she is, sure. She suuuure is, _reeeeal_ scary." He grinned broadly, providing an exaggerated shrug and dopey look for the giant's benefit. Yang didn't seem to think the situation was so funny now, good for her... "But I swear on the Throne, Commissar Cat ain't so mad, Kobi. She won't yell! Just uh...just wants to make sure you're okay, right. Not mad, just worried. You don't want her to be worried right? Not when she's so busy, y'know?"

"Ummm...Yeah, Commisah Cat busy. Workin' for us..." He was nodding, good sign. Catelin would string him up for that nickname however, well too late now.

"Working for us, yeah that's right. Now I need ya to work for me and wait outside, Kobi. Just outside the door and I'll come get ya when we're done here. Think ya can do that, for me and the Emperor up top?" Delphine was practically steaming at that last little addition, but it was necessary.

Ogryns often didn't understand much of the spiritual dogma and nuance regarding the Master of Mankind's sacrifice upon the Golden Throne. Most thought the Emperor was sitting well and good on Terra looking out for them, and wanted for nothing more than to make him happy in return.

A simplistic notion, but it worked well enough to get em' moving he supposed. Keep moving forward...

"Er...uh Yep, sounds good Luxy! For da Emprah!" The Ogryn beamed, hefting his passengers up and over the worst of the wreckage, humming to himself happily along his way towards the double doors. Delphine allowing one last hissing glower at them all before stomping off, the Trooper in no mood to try and bar her way.

Yang seemed willing to let it end, though it was a bit dicey when the Sister shouldered her out of the way roughly. "This isn't finished, Wych. You were fortunate." Or at least she tried to shift her, almost toppling over in all that armor when the Blonde proved immovable.

"Feh...yeah very fortunate, got to kick some blowhard's butt today. Much appreciated." The Sister scowled, retreating with barely discernible threats and verses on her lips, conceding victory to the Huntress at least for the moment.

"Real charmer there, isn't she?" The brawler grunted, biting her lip upon noticing the Trooper standing to the side, looking quite bemused. "Lux, you really ought to know that blue woman, Ciane, she isn't actually..."

"Joy Girl, I could give less of a shite-stomping frak at the moment, it'll get handled." He waved her off with a weary sigh, blanching for a few heartbeats as they both processed what he'd just called her, eyes catching the momentary flicker of red in her gaze.

Thankfully she seemed to have had enough as well and let it slip this once, glancing about at the dining hall with a look of satisfaction and no small amount of horror.

"I'll uh...I'll be working on the name too."

"You do that, Hot Shot." She ran a gloved hand through her mane, brushing crumbs and sparks from golden tresses, apparently dissatisfied with the state of her appearance.

Lux couldn't understand why she bothered? His first ally on Remnant still outclassed just about everyone else in the room even covered in mulch. Now if only she weren't so damned terrifying, the lot em' were...damned scary, the Aura thing.

"Good job with the Big Guy, awesome work really. Didn't know you were so good with kids...I mean, ah y'know what I mean." She rocked back on her heels, wincing at a pulled muscle, favoring her left side just slightly. "Mentioned you guys were buds, but I wasn't sure...?"

Lux raised a wary brow, taking the compliment at face value. From what he knew of Xiao Long, things like subtle jabbing and verbal barbs were almost beyond her personality. Too open for it, something he appreciated.

"Weren't anything too special, Kobi's just one of the few in the Regiment that didn't give me flak or spit when I got posted with the 8th. Probably close on the only one, actually...so yeah, learned to handle him pretty quick."

Abhuman or not...that was telling. At least Kobi couldn't root about in his brainpan.

There were questions burning in Yang's expression, there always were. The Huntress was a curious doll, but she restrained herself this once with visible effort.

"Yeah, you did. Speaking of which, sorry about all this. We really things get out of hand." A sniff from behind where her team was sheltering made her flinch visibly, like she'd been slapped across the back of the head. Weiss Schnee seemingly recovered, even after only a week Lux could've picked her indignation out from anywhere. Heiress had made something of an easy impression, if not a kindly one. "I mean _I_ let things get out of hand."

"Not like you didn't have a fair bit of help." He replied awkwardly, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. RWBY, JNPR, every semi-conscious student in the halls was staring. The Cadian hated that, getting noticed and called out, a thing that usually preceded a bolt to the face or worse where he'd come from. "Can't see the Schola-mistress...Goodwitch, being too thrilled." And after all that talk about the Imperials being 'brutal war mongers' too... "We'll take the hit. This was our fault in the first place for letting it happen."

More than a few folks were probably counting their blessings the Commissar was currently disarmed. Those Catachan frakkers for starters, letting the Ogryn walk off with the Psyker, their one known ticket to possibly getting in touch with the Imperium at large. Then figuring out what the frak was going on with that bruise in the sky, the frak were they thinking...!?

"Hey, just another day at Beacon. No biggie."

They shared a laugh, Lux more going along with it and fill the silence, Yang only trying to cover up just how screwed she was with Goodwitch when she figured this mess out. Food fights were one thing, getting into a brawl with the alien invaders trying to get their munchkin back were quite another.

"Glad to see you up and about, was kinda worried when you stopped moving after...well, the last time. Nothing permanent?"

Lux blinked, smirking as though he wasn't terrified by the fact this doll and her Aura witchery could reduce him to paste with an inkling. "Our side's fault too on that, from what I remember. Sadly ain't much, might need ya to help me figure out a few details here and there."

"And maybe you could help us figure a few things out too in return."

His muscles stiffened up, a defensive reflex to her extending her arm his way. To the Emperor's benevolent credit it appeared she hadn't noticed the reaction, too caught up in whatever thoughts were buzzing around in the blonde head of hers.

"Like what happened here? That girl, Nell, why was she so important? And what's a 'Psyker' anyway?"

 _"_ I...you see...?" Well, this was certainly unexpected. Asked to make nice with the locals and the first question he gets is the big one. "I um..."

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Classroom Corridors, Vale - 1 Hour Later)**

"...I apologize, Trooper Brindle..."

Lux shuddered visibly, eyes fixed forward on the corridor ahead while trying to ignore the way his skin crawled at having to make prolonged contact with the Psyker in any way. As though every second he spent dragging the waif-like girl along with him would be the one when her corruption attempted to take root in his mind again, like it had in forest. Changing his personality, or bringing it to the fore...?

 _'Drop that, you're a Guardsman! Act like it!'_

The Cadian had enough fresh burdens rattling around in his mind without the little Trog adding to their number...maybe it _was_ all her fault. Yang certainly hadn't been too thrilled by the evasive answers though, and that stunk of one of his screw ups. Still it wasn't hadn't been lying per say, the little cretin _was_ disturbed and dangerous, and he really didn't know much beyond those two facts.

How does one explain the frakking Warp? It was evil, utterly heretical, and the act of touching it...well...it steeped you in damn well both. Any sane individual knew to steer clear, that's what was said. Though given the blonde's terrifying gifts, her seeming concern for the mutant...Emperor help him, Emperor help them all.

 _'Wait...What if the Trog is in your head even now, listening?'_

He'd been debating the choice to send Kobi and his uh...'new friend' ahead to the Imperial Camp along with the troublesome Sister, who he'd dragged spitting and screaming that they were all bloody heretics and she'd see them burned. Trusting Kobi would be able to keep the pair of them in check, at least until the Commissar could swoop in and bring the wrath of the Emperor on whatever or whoever she so chose.

A shame lying to Kobi like that, but hopefully Catelin would have the sense to be merciful. Not like it was really the Ogryn's fault after all...but what if the choice to send him ahead and leave him alone wasn't Lux's fault either? What if...? What _if..._?

"I said I apologize, Trooper Brindle...!?"

"Heard you the first half dozen frakking times, Freak, now stow it!" He spat back, refusing to look her way. He already knew those frakking eyes would be drilling into the back of his skull regardless. "Caused enough trouble today. Throne, do you even realize what you've done? What you've risked...!?" ...

"Indeed." The flat answer caught him off guard, almost tripping him up as he looked back over his shoulder warily. "That is why I am attempting to make amends in such a manner, Trooper Brindle. I disobeyed the Commissar." ... "Rage and concern boil as one, the fear of answers denied. Answers to ease the hearts of the displaced, answers to quell the fears of uncertain tidings upon...!"

... "Feh...Should have left you to the damned...ah frak the blasted Sister!?" ... "Bastard born...!? _Great_ , great now on top of everything else I've got to worry about getting scorched alive by some Emperor-bothering bolter bi... _ick_!?" The words caught partway in his throat, hypno-indoctrinated limiters choking off whatever insult he'd dared attempted to utter in regards to a member of one of the Emperor's finest institutions. "Blast it...Throne frakking...!?"

"I apologize...!?"

Her words were brutally cut short, Lux's fist taking hold of the front of her robes broad collar and dragging her forward by the fraying fabric, his fist drawn back. It was nothing, the girl practically weightless in his grasp, like a doll...Throne save him, she could destroy everything he was at an inkling. This creature, Nell, terrified and repulsed him in equal measure.

What she could do, what she was...

Instinct took hold in his anger, the desire to dispatch the little monster in his grasp, to stop her looking at him like...like _that_. But rather than the fear he'd been hoping for all he got was the same level stare. And it threw him far more than he'd have ever admitted...even to himself.

"Do it. It will make you feel better, won't it? To hurt? To break? To break? To hurt? Won't be the first."

Her voice, already echoing with things unseen, playing across his senses like a close range ordinance impact. Making him blink in surprise, surprise at the creature looking back at him so casually in such circumstance.

"I see it, deep _deep_ down...hands in masks pulling you up from the comfortable dark and grime...strapped down in stainless rooms filled with needles and verse, shocks and whips biting and hurting...up up too bright, so frakking bright...!" Throne he had to stop her, stop _this._ Lux could feel her, feel the little child-thing staring through him and poking through his thoughts. His skin felt suddenly clammy, his head too full...swimming while his stomach reeled.

Such came with knowing without doubt that in that moment, in that contact, that this mutant abomination knew _him_.

Moreover she was curious, obsessed even...

"They broke you, remade you to break in turn. Pain to the Mutant, abhorrence to the Alien, death to the Heretic...for the Emperor, _Ave...Ave Imperator_... _Ave... **ah**_!?"

"Stay out of my head, Psyker!" Lux snarled, shoving the childlike waif back onto her bottom. For the first time eliciting something close to a reaction from the young woman, a cry of pain that caught him off guard, just like everything the Wyrdvane represented. So frail, so small, so horrifying, so dangerous...

Some nearby Beacon students looking ready to intervene, naive fools they were, but then something had them moving along without incident.

A cold chill bristled in the air without warning or sense in reality, the eyes of at least a half dozen onlookers glazing while legs shuffled bodies mindlessly from the scene step by machine step. The hall suddenly, and eerily, devoid of life but for the two travelers from another far crueler existence. Those students would come to their senses a few seconds later, completely removed and none the wiser for the lapse.

To have done such, with such ease...what in the Warp was this _Thing_ he was supposed to be guarding?

"I...I apologize."

"Stop that!" He felt dirtied somehow, his skin crawling beneath olive fatigues as he willed one foot in front of the other. His movements... _His_ choice...that was important, so damned important... "Already gone and made me a coward before the Regiment. Don't need you scramblin' anything else while yer' at it!" He spat vehemently, hesitating before letting out a long weary sigh. "Grr...frakking Throne, why me?"

"Why?"

If anything her need to question only spurred him on, impelling him with the need to make her understand what this Psyker had done to him. The uncertainty she'd left him with, when by all reason he should be running the other way. But he didn't run away, he was Guard, he moved forward towards the enemy.

"What made me stand out, hundreds of shite-stomping Imperial Guard on the damned field to choose from and you go rooting around in my skull, why?" The words sounded so desperate, so weak. Catelin would've ventilated his skull in an instant if she'd heard such, of that the Lux was near certain. "Why'd you go and pick me? Why'd you do this to _me_!?"

No response was forthcoming, at least not in any way the Guardsman could understand.

Bloodshot hazel fixed on the stone tiles underfoot. More of that damned muttering spilling from tainted lips, the little Freak.

What was he doing here? On a foreign world bereft of the Emperor where people wielded mad sorcery that wasn't sorcery. A world covered in Daemon things of all shapes and sizes, with mutants breaking bread with scared humanity...he wasn't made for this.

Give him a proper enemy, something that wasn't so damned confusing...!? No questions, no painful answers...

And what if the little Trog did answer properly?

What if his and the Commissar's fears were confirmed and he was...what if he was tainted somehow? Corrupted? Like those howling heretics wasting away in Atlas' cells, driven half mad and raving? It wasn't as though he and they were very different, at least at one time...many had come from the Underhives same as him, had murdered and worse to survive same as him.

Did that make him a Heretic in the making?

Could one even be a Heretic and not know it?...What was he saying? Of course they could...so then...

"Ah...no, no forget it." He grumbled, shaking his head clear of such matters and failing utterly in the attempt.

Lux didn't want to know, he couldn't bear to think on such things. He had a duty, one he would see fulfilled.

"...?"

"Right, like that...just keep your mouth shut and save your excuses for the Commissar. She's gonna want an explanation for this, and I'm not throwing Kobi under the treads, not for you. Regiment owes the stupid Frakker too much to see him catch a bolt on your account." Nell nodded, getting to her feet and smoothing out the ragged robes she called clothing, eyes still downcast as they resumed the pace...anger giving way to resigned bitterness. "Wasn't made for this, damn it. Now I gotta keep an eye on the Ogryn, Joy-girl... _Yang_ and the rest of em, great... _frakking_ perfect!"

Not the best position to be in, sure, but Lux was no Ganger-scum, not anymore. He was a proper son of Cadia, a soldier of the Emperor in service to Mankind!

He was better than those traitor bastards. Better than whatever the unforgiving frakking galaxy could throw at him!

 _'...I'm Cadian born, I won't break! I **won't**!...'_

"That's why."

A cold chill of trepidation running down the Guardsman's spine as Nell picked up speed to match him on bare padding footsteps, tentatively reached out to clutch at the sleeve of his uniform in a hand far colder than it should have been. A humming melody, discordant and out of tune, spilled from her throat playfully. The tone of it not exactly unpleasant, but the contents of it was enough to send a cold chill through his heart.

He should have pushed the wretched thing away, gone sprinting back to the hastily erected showers and scoured himself clean while spewing half remembered litanies to gird his fragile soul.

It was his orders and the Commissars expectations, those and the realization that the Psyker actually thought it was trying to help him that gave him some small amount of pause. Even if he did free his arm after a few moments with a low growl, the sort born of a life in the dark Kasr depths among rats and men little better, that set the little monster straight.

Was she in his head, was the corruption already within him? He didn't know...he _couldn't_...

By the Throne, he _should_ be certain. And he had no idea what could possibly be more terrifying than that lack of any such reassurance.

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 **A/N: Happy Holidays folks! Know its a bit of a wrap up chapter. Trying to get into Lux's head, not something he much likes if you didn't notice. Appreciate all the support, we've actually gotten above 100 favorites after last chapter which is a good deal more than I thought this story would get starting out. Once again, thank y'all very much. Till next time! - Mojo**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 14 - Culture Shock -**

* * *

 _ **Wisdom is the beginning of fear.**_

\- Imperial Proverb

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Anima - Lake Matsu Shore Front)**

"Aura?"

Raaf cocked his head, sampling the simple word cautiously as though it bore the threat of poison with every syllable.

Vernal simply looked on impassively from her seat across this particular hideout's practice yard overlooking the lapping tides of the great lake below and shadowed by the impossible islands above, seated upon a Dust munitions crate with her arms crossed across her chest. Eyebrow raised as though not quite believing what she was hearing.

"Uh yeah, duh, Big Guy. You don't have your Aura unlocked, now do you?" She tapped her skull, leaning forward in her seat to sneer at the transhuman. Such blatant disrespect... "No, no that's right. You're from some big fancy Space Empire filled with Spaceships and Space Marines fighting Space wars. How could I possibly forget? All that 'Spaaaace'." She spread her arms wide, effecting a snickering air about her.

" _Imperium_." The Astartes growled, bristling at having to repeat the simple correction once more. "It would be a 'Space Imperium', mortal."

" _Oof_ , now that's real funny. Stealing my material, we'll make a bandit out of you yet." His appointed Mentor merely shrugging off the complaint as she had everything else, checking her nails heedless of her charges mounting irritation.

Heedless, or more likely simply uncaring.

Vernal was baiting him, that much was obvious even without his...' _gifts'_. There was no other logical explanation for the Majordomo's behavior, at least not going off of everything Raaf understood of mortal reasoning. The difficulty was that it didn't make any reasonable sense, her motivations a mystery.

Raven Branwen, her leader in all respects, had charged her with the task of educating the Space Marine Initiate about matters concerning various facets of Remnant's culture among other things.

As concerning as many of those said facets were, some stood out more than others.

A distinct lack of any connection or even knowledge of the Emperor for one, in so far as he could determine without closer examination of Remnant's histories. No mention of any deity or legendary figure of note that might have represented the Master of Mankind, as was so common the case with worlds left to fester on their own accord.

Perhaps one of the noble Primarchs? Raven did mention brothers in her legends...no, no it was far too early to speculate over such things.

The fact remained however, that if Remnant truly was yet another example of those distant outposts of mankind's galaxy spanning civilization lost to circumstance, it had been so long enough for such crucial details to become nigh unrecognizable. The Raven Scout needed to know more, his context woefully incomplete.

And the trade off for such knowledge was clear as crystal, the Tribal Chief relaying information Raaf required in exchange for details in regards to the Imperium and its own workings, either that or she was grooming him to serve her in some task or another. She wished to utilize his strength, his abilities, seeking to grant herself some form of advantage in the days to come.

Such desires and emotions were simple things to pick up, despite the other Raven's attempts to shield them and that strange background presence he could feel every time he so much as brushed her mind. That power lying dormant...

She wanted something he could offer, just as he desired something from her. A tenuous arrangement but one that served his purposes well enough. Knowledge, actionable intelligence, a mission with an achievable objective.

Already he had become rapidly familiar with the various structures of governance supported in Remnant's major outposts of civilization.

The four 'Kingdoms' of Vale, Vacuo, Atlas, and Mistral where he was currently situated...if only on a map, constituting the largest concentrations of Mankind...not Humanity alone.

' _Faunus_ '...he'd come to learn that word too. Some abhuman mutant strain possessive of varied bestial traits, avian, mammalian, reptilian and more.

Such diversity in genus was uncommon but not unheard of, not within the Chapter Records housed within the Ravenspire on Deliverance. Oftentimes these offshoots had been stamped out, whittled down to extinction, or simply vanished with the millennia...and the humans of this world actually _coexisted_ with them? Such things did happen, of course, but were hardly a thing to be _lauded_.

Thankfully no such creatures resided in Raven's camp as far as Raaf could be aware. And he was aware of much. Things he doubted Raven and her Lieutenant would much appreciate if they knew. Of other things however...

"Aura, that's what you use to strengthen yourself? That strange sorcery you weave?" That had been a terrifying discovery, that the strange damage repelling fields surrounding some of the mortals wasn't some lost technology, but something all together more unknown.

Some power dwelling deep within yet also _of_ the soul, self-contained from the touch of the warp. An internal fire that burned against the darkness of reality like a lumen globe or lantern, the only proper metaphor he'd been able to compare the sensation to.

"Branwen mentioned the term yet explained little of it to me. What do you mean 'unlocked'?" He could pluck it from her mind perhaps, he wasn't sure if such a thing would be beyond his minimal grasp of his abilities. Yet he dare not, such action inevitably drawing things far more dangerous than the ire of the camp's inhabitants should he fail.

"Exactly what I said, your Aura's locked up, dormant and sealed. Don't they have locks in the Imperium?" Raaf ignored her, too focused on the word's content to notice the rancor. Vernal seemed to pick up on this, taking it as open invitation to continue. "And it isn't magic or Sorcery or whatever. Its the manifestation of one's soul, its power forced into reality. Strength, speed, defense..." She smirked, noting the Space Marine's discomfort though having no possible inkling as to the reason why. "Everything living has a soul, meaning they all have an Aura. You, me, that tree over there, the dumb looking squirrel running up in the branches, everything. Well, everything aside from the Grimm anyway, they're the exception. Just blank where there should be something, least that's how Raven puts it anyway."

More than likely because they were all parts of some greater whole. Extensions of another's will with nary one of their own, or that was the impression Raaf had perceived in the time since his arrival. Daemonic things cast in similar aspect and bound to a more potent entity, bound to the reality in tireless search of negativity, suffering, pain...yet these people knew nothing.

And this Aura, the way the bandit had described it...

'Forcing the soul's power on reality', such a thing positively reeked of sorcery, but yet it wasn't. Not really, so far as far as he could tell. It felt...cleaner, was that correct?

If so, then what made this power so different from his own? Was there even a difference? How could he be sure if there even was, his own innate knowledge of the empyrean so lacking? Instinct warring with logic warring with sense...

Raaf wasn't used to such uncertainties, his world before consisting of little more than his assignments and his duty. To protect the Imperium and his Battle Brothers, to honor the Ravenlord and the Emperor in all things. To be the knife in the darkness, planted in the backs of those who might threaten Mankind's dominance of the stars...

"So I have an Aura as well, then? And it's sealed, you say?" He said carefully, cursing in High Gothic at the exasperated glower he received. Infuriating woman, her role was to teach him, was it not? Ignorance could only be banished by inquiry... "Why are we out here, Vernal? You haven't allowed me my weapons."

Probably an intelligent play, just because they'd allowed him free range of the camp didn't mean the wretches trusted him implicitly.

Throne of Terra, from what he could discern, they hardly trusted one another either. Drifters and vagabonds, supporting a core group within the Bandit chief's inner circle. Those like the soul standing before him, so confidently...it was a false bravado. He could tell...

"Isn't it obvious, Big Guy?"

Vernal hopped up off her seat, striding forward until she was standing directly before the Raven Guard, barely tall enough to reach the heights of his abdomen. Close enough to reach out and touch the scarred ebony carapace plating of his chest piece, her face set yet betraying so many small microcosms of uncertainty.

An elevated heart rate beating in her chest, her adrenal glands stimulated, the salt sweet stink of sweat leaking from overactive pores...she was nervous, and hiding it well, for a _mortal_.

"Branwen wants me to _un-_ lock it, your Aura. Seems she's tired of waiting for you to stitch yourself up every time you meet a Grimm. That, or she's just curious to see what'll happen. For the record, I said it was a bad idea. Wondered why she couldn't do it herself? Always making me..." She raised a hand, reaching out to make contact only to frown as he retreated. Sensing the power in the gesture and recoiling. "Hmm, what? What's the matter? You scared?"

 _'What was the matter_ '? Could she truly be so foolish?

She meant to unlock something inside his Soul. something perhaps better left dormant.

And what if she were playing him falsely? What if it was some sort of warp-born corruption she meant to pervade into his pure being? ...No, not pure. The Epistolary had been clear in that regard, Raaf would serve the Emperor in the shadows alongside his brothers, but he was different.

He was tainted, a mutant aberration, a Psyker...and he _knew_ she did not lie.

"We Astartes know no fear." He growled, feeling the tension in her hand play across his carapace in subtle vibrations. That flicker of uncertainty again that he could hardly understand. Had he truly once been as such, so small and irresolute? "Such is rendered beyond us in the course of our training."

"Ooh, that must be nice." She waggled her fingers playfully, raising a questioning brow. He could sense the exasperation bleeding from her as if from an open wound. "Look, do we have to do this the hard way or what?"

Amazing how one act of subtlety and a smattering of good fortune in knocking him inert could build such confidence.

Even now, at such close distance, the Raven Guard knew full well that if he truly desired the bandit would already be on the ground with neck shattered despite this strange ability. Vernal was more durable than most mortals, stronger and faster too, yet he had dispatched far worse.

Of course that would render his advantages of staying in the camp moot after all, the locals not likely to take such an act favorably in the slightest.

So says Guilliman on the necessary role of the Scout Company, _'_ _...to seek out such fragilities and smite them with every weapon at your disposal...'._ Knowledge of the environment and the capabilities of potential foes certainly qualified, first hand knowledge...

Raaf paused, dark eyes boring into her defiant stare seeking some physical sign of deceit that he knew for certain he would not find, jaw taut. "Is this truly necessary?"

"Who knows?" The bluntness of the answer startled him, a rare emotion, not one he much liked he decided. "Look, Raven asked me to train you up right. To make sure you can survive out in the wild world of Remnant, and unlike the rest of this transhuman nonsense, Aura is something I understand. Something I know I can work with."

Vernal believed everything she had spoken, every word the truth, and wicked or not this psychic born sense had never lied Raaf before, even as those around him had.

Distant memories of a mother stating she'd eaten enough when in truth her share had gone to him. A father lying about where he spent his nights after shifts, his wife saying she believed him. The promise from the Astartes that had dragged him from his home that he might see this family once more...

That subtle sense for his surroundings that he and his Lords had mistaken for insight but in fact was something far more potent and terrible.

Already the whispers of other's thoughts beckoned at every moment, underscored by the promises of things better left unrecognized. The latter had grown in volume in recent days under the Warp Storm's fell shadow, murmuring their foul perfidies as though...worried?

They desired he crush the Mortal's skull, drink of her mind to learn her secrets, and flee...flee into their warm corrupting embrace.

"If it helps, it might feel a bit weird at first, but it shouldn't hurt. Least it's not supposed to." A flicker of compassion touched her soul, crushed behind the glacial mask of pragmatism and vital pride. "I mean you've always had it. It's just been sleeping is all. Think of it that way."

"Pain is but an illusion of the senses." He grimaced as she tentatively, almost gently, moved her palm into place over his primary heart. A motion he allowed if instantly regretted, The whispers near deafening by this point, gnawing at the fraying corners of his mind with renewed vigor and it was all he could do to shut them out. "The shadows keep me, in their embrace I am inviolate."

" _Heh_ , you sure?" She said it with a scoff, probably mistaking the mental anguish and whispered litany as some sort of doubt. Of which there were several, he had to admit. "You have to be willing, that's the important bit. Won't work otherwise?"

Whatever they were, whoever these phantoms might have been, they didn't want _this_.

And in that instant his choice was made.

"Do what must be done." He uttered almost as a whisper, steeling himself for whatever might occur. Some assault on the soul, an attack of psychic or daemonic providence... "Is their some ritual or...?" Raaf fell silent, noting the young woman's concentration, and the soft cerulean after glow emanating from every pore causing his eyes to swiftly adjust to the shift in spectrum.

An internal radiance and warmth that the Pskyer could feel beyond the physical thrill of the sensation. A warmth chasing back the daemonic whispers from beyond, leaving naught but echoing howls of outrage and pitiful recriminations.

 _"Through strength and struggle we endure, in adversity we stand triumphant..."_

The curious non-energy sharpened in clarity, physically visible now without the need for his ' _other_ ' senses, almost blinding in its intensity. What's more it seemed to be spreading, the light coalescing for a few moments before reaching out to touch his body.

 _"By these trials, we carve our presence into the world, standing above all..."_

Slowly but surely, something began to stir in Raaf's breast, as though his secondary heart was kicking itself into sudden violent life. But no...it was deeper, a kind in the muscles never stretched, an eye never opened, a step never taken...a grey shifting un-light beginning to shine across his broad frame, like living shadow or curling smoke grasped and pulled to the fore.

An indescribable something, so strange and yet so familiar. If the Warp's touch was pain, this sensation was...?

He frowned, noticing the heady tang of sweat beading Vernal's forehead, the dilation in her pupils, the exertion of whatever ritual this was taking its toll. She was rousing this power, his Aura, urging it into the open as one might a dangerous caged beast.

He could feel her effort, deeper in a way that would have been impossible even if he'd chosen to enter her mind. Her frustration and pride, her stubborn will and grudging admiration...her loyalty to one who had saved her.

A feeling he could understand, a point of rare kinship he'd rarely felt before even if he could hardly understand it. Both souls lived their lives in service to others, one by dint of duty and sacrifice, the other by choice and...and affection, curious?

 _"Unburdened by order's chains, I awaken your soul from fitful slumber, and in the freedom I offer, bind us to common purpose."_ She uttered the mantra with an air of crushing finality, slumping back a few stumbling steps, and might have even tumbled to the ground if Raaf hadn't caught her outstretched arm in a spade like hand that for all its size and brutal possibility was as dexterous and gentle as feathered down.

Regardless of this, hoisting her upright was an act of almost pitiful ease. The Astartes unable to hid his shock at how frail she felt, reduced in that moment from the posturing rogue he'd come to be familiar with. The blue light of her Aura fading rapidly like a guttering candle while his own internal radiance only sharpened, feeding on the corruption that had stained his soul these last weeks and perhaps longer still, hungry after being so long denied.

Power as Raaf had never known felt as though it pulsed through every bio-forged nerve ending. Wvery lingering hurt from the recent days that had managed to overcome even his post-human physiology vanishing in an instant only to be replaced with a stunning vitality...

"D-Damn that's...just damn. That Aura, its not normal..."

Vernal shook his hand off with an uttered curse, or more accurately Raaf released it at her insistence to allow her that dignity, taking a moment to steady herself as both watched the shadows fade to nothing against pale flesh and dark carapace once more.

He could feel her thoughts racing, emotions dancing across her soul...her Aura, like a stuttering pict feed, only so much clearer.

Surprise...she was surprised. And that terrified her as much as it intrigued. "What...What the hell are you? It's like there was grime coating your spirit, something...whispering?"

Raaf couldn't answer her, not then, he wouldn't know how. His dark irises fixed on his hands and flexing fingers as the last of the shadow boiled away to embers of corpusant grey power. Reveling in the sensation of it.

A perception similar to those early awkward days after his implantation surgeries, relearning and discovering what changes divine gene-science had wrought across his frame. The essence of divinity bestowed upon him once more, this time in moments rather than weeks...and most unlike the addition of sacred gene-seed, painless just as Vernal had promised.

What's more he could feel it building inside him, the world brightening visibly, the warp's touch once so oppressive upon his mind reduced to a mere niggling at the edges of his consciousness, the whispers assailing him driven back unable to approach. Compared to the screaming claws at his mind from before, this...this was glorious!

Within the aegis of Aura, his soul was as a beacon. A light in the darkness same as Raven's and Vernal's, brighter even at least for the moment.

It felt...it simply _felt._

A clarity of emotions cascading one after another, freed as a wellspring bursting from behind a broken dam.

Boundless joy and utter wonderment at this experience, gratitude to the woman standing so small and frail before him, searing disdain for the enemies he would crush to nothingness with this newfound power, a flicker of fear at the prospect of... _of_...!?

Raaf staggered, his massive frame wracked with sudden terrible revelation, muscles seizing involuntarily.

Understanding giving way to a horror that now threatened to drown him in its tides. Vaguely aware of Vernal crying in alarm out as the weight pitched him to his knees, pale fingers leaping to his skull with force to shatter steel while both hearts thundered to life in his chest in discordant thunderclaps.

His Aura...His Aura had...?

Whatever process had been inflicted on him, whatever his acceptance of the power dwelling inside his soul might've offered, its forced release had born far greater impact and consequence than even he might have imagined possible.

The light of his soul would preserve him, this Raaf knew, the corruption and threat of taint that had dogged his every fumbling step would be kept at bay in a manner no Psyker as far as he was aware could claim. A balm against the Daemon, a filter against the Warp, so long as he stood vigilant and cautious his soul would endure.

This was a gift...but the cost paid had been high, perhaps too much so.

Conditioning and psychological dogma subtly introduced and woven into his being over a lifetime of service to the Raven Guard against trauma and all too human emotions, had been shaken if not swept asunder in the wake of his Aura's emotional rising. Hypno-indoctrinated safeguards to gird his psyche from the horrors of a galaxy where naught was certain but war and death.

Horrors he had faced without fear, hesitation, or doubt. Horrors capable of breaking minds, lingering traumas discarded by a mind girded by certainty...

But he doubted now...he doubted because he was afraid...for the first time in close to a decade, Raaf Praeto experienced something akin to true fear birthed from a soul unbound and unchained...

And it was this unforgiving fact, this indelible truth inherent to this new existence of his, that left him screaming...

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy Infirmary, Vale)**

"...and perhaps then young lady, you can run back to your Superior, hmm? Tell her yourself _exactly_ why she and her compatriots will no longer be granted access to the Academy's grounds." Glynda Goodwitch adjusted her spectacles with a disapproving huff, examining the youthful Imperial she currently had fixed in place under her gaze.

An adolescent ruddy faced woman shivering in her boots despite the thermal greatcoat and fur cap she bore, one who had only a few minutes earlier been stepping up to challenge the Huntress' right to conduct her investigation with all the haughty swagger indicative of someone her age charged with a task they evidently thought made them important...or at least more important than most.

Even going so far as declaring herself a proud Trooper of the Fifty-Fourth Valhallan Ice Warriors, a hero of the Cadian Gate...whatever that nonsense meant. At least the Atlesian delegation posted in the ward had known when to back down and allow the Huntress her run of things.

These Imperials, so arrogant and prideful, demanding they be acknowledged. Perhaps if they acted with as much decorum as they dressed she might be more inclined to grant them such credence, that and if they actually made any headway in identifying what that blighted Storm was raging in the sky over the Forests.

But no, all that Commissar Catelin would give were more reassurances, more vague tidbits, or worse of all the prayers as though such things would make any difference...almost like she were holding out, waiting for something. And all the while her compatriots rampaged around the school like squealing Boarbatusks, causing mischief wherever they went.

According to what her exalted personage evidently expected, Glynda would have been required to step through the proper channels of Astra Militarum Disciplinary Procedure, submitting her request to the designated Commissariat Aide who would then bring it to his Lady's attention. Or in the Valhallan's opinion, she could take her 'ploin shaped behind' and march it to the nearest Temple and get the God Emperor's own blessing, because there was no other way she would be getting through that door to the section of the Infirmary set aside for the Imperials use.

 ** _She_** had evidently never been forced to deal with overly hormonal teenagers armed to the teeth with youthful rebellion and the training to see their efforts through.

Of course, Gynda had already discussed the matter with Lux Brindle, finding him a semi-competent if crass youth desperately in need of lessons in manners and decorum, but pliable enough. After all it had been he who had brought the matter of Imperial involvement in the aforementioned ' _Argument_ ' that had seen the Dining Hall demolished and several students issuing complaints to her attention despite Miss Xiao Long's best efforts to obfuscate the truth of what had occurred.

So much like her Uncle, with all the loyalty of her Father...taking the lion's share of the blame on herself.

Branwen's niece would of course would be next on the Professor's rounds, always prudent to let her charges to sweat a little before heaping on the punishment. Detention only got so far if one didn't get the point across after all.

However given the exact nature of those involved and what seemed to be underlying clashes in culture and doctrine, Glynda had of course wanted a fuller picture of what had occurred. That required witnesses, on both sides, and with Brindle proving to be somewhat elusive as of late, the er...'Ogryn' strictly confined to the Imperial Billet, and the actual instigator of the assault one Sister Delphine being...uncooperative to say the least, she had been forced to wheedle her way to the underlying cause of the dispute.

Either that or attempt to squeeze the answers from an erratic adolescent already responsible for murdering unarmed prisoners and wounding several more Atlas Soldiers.

Suffice it to say she was quite satisfied to take her good fortune, that no students had been seriously injured during the incident in question, and leave things at that. At least until she had evidence to present to Ozpin and the child claiming to lead the Army in their backyard, perhaps see some real progress in getting things back under control.

And so her search had led her here and, given the cold sweat beading on the Valhallan's brow alongside the furtive glances shared by her disparately dressed compatriots, she would be getting her answers quite soon.

"Unless said visitors expect to travel under armed custody of course, given the dangers you so evidently represent. Yes, I'm certain Commissar Catelin will be quite thrilled. Or..." She leaned in, the girl flinching back with a barely audible squeak as her crop appeared in hand, rapping her lightly across the nose. "...Or you and your fellows can move aside and let me go about my business in _my_ school, then we can forget this little unpleasantness. Am I understood?"

"C-Clear as frost, Madam. Understood, so sorry to have...to have inconvenienced you." The Trooper stammered out meekly, remembering her stoic composure a moment later and proving she was at least made of sterner stuff.

Good for the Commissar, at least she knew how to choose people with the potential of showing a bit of backbone. After a scolding like the one she'd spent the last few minutes delivering, many of her students would've been left in tears.

Of course, she ought to think twice before granting such command to children. A proper veteran would have stood their ground no matter the circumstance, or so she suspected James might have noted.

A lapse in discipline? Perhaps. That or the Commissar was losing influence among her forces, which was quite possible as well. This whole matter having apparently sprung from soldiers leaving their post in the first place?

Something to be expected. A hodgepodge collection of Soldiers from distinct homes and cultures mixed as one? The Huntress had seen enough posturing between joint forces from Atlas and Vale even in these last few weeks to expect the Imperials to function with any less of an issue. So many personalities, leaders, and the like all jostling for clout.

A concern she'd have to see to the Headmaster...

"We'll need to be present, of course. All times, Commissar's terms for anyone meeting with her, Ma'am. Those are her orders."

"Why? I hardly think that's necessary."

"Don't matter none, Commissar's orders are _er_...well we need to be there, Ma'am." The Valhallan repeated, very much aware of her own infractions and no doubt looking to save some face in the offing. "All times...please."

Glynda leveled her glacial stare once more, quite capable of forcing the issue but choosing instead to relent at the last with a nod. The young soldier had already bent her given instruction enough as it was, the Huntress saw no need to push the matter any further for a simple minutes long inquiry.

And so it was she soon found herself standing above the petite form of a copper-haired youth sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in voluminous threadbare robes of dirtied tan hide that hung overlarge off a frame made childlike through what could only have been undernourishment, in fact likely being closer in age to Miss Rose. The sight of it putting a sour weight in the Professor's stomach, well familiar with such things after years of traveling between famine struck villages or in the aftermath of attacks by the creatures of Grimm.

Currently her subject was occupied with tearing through one of the ward's pre-made boxed meals, utensils abandoned in favor of thin reedy fingers dragging the nourishment to her mouth in a frenzy. Sighing contentedly, seemingly unaware of the Professor's presence or her questions so focused on the task before her.

As stated she was hardly alone, though in reality the Imperial Troopers may not have been present at all for how far they stood from the pair...or more specifically the girl.

Strange as it was, these soldiers that had claimed to fight the horrors of a universe caught in the midst of constant warfare so utterly unsettled by such a small soul, making the same gesture she'd seen Catelin and her Command Staff make across their chests? A warding sign, another prayer perhaps...

They were terrified, Glynda could see that with ease. Mutant they called her, Pskyer...? Now what could that mean?

"...Miss Nell, dear, I asked you a question." The Professor said with a gentle firmness, slow and concise as though speaking to a far younger individual. Considering, and not for the first time since she'd entered, if the girl could even understand her.

Which she supposed was possible, the trade language spoken by peoples of Remnant apparently based, or so the Imperials claimed at least, upon a rather distinct if archaic form of their 'Imperial Gothic' or 'Low Gothic' and thus could be relayed without much difficulty.

Or so they claimed, perhaps this child was the exception? "When Sister Delphine caused the disturbance before, was she in fact pursuing you?"

Again she was ignored, Nell engrossed in lapping the gooey traces of chocolate pudding clean from her fingers. Not used to being quite so thoroughly ignored, Glynda found herself at quite a loss, wondering if Brindle hadn't been attempting to mislead her, using this poor girl's infirmity as some kind of excuse or shield.

It seemed she would need to have another conversation with the young Trooper, perhaps see if he couldn't be persuaded to show a hair more candor this time around...

"He won't break." A thin monotone utterance made Glynda jump in place, glancing up from the scroll in her palm to stare wide-eyed at the so-named Psyker who sat exactly as she had been before, looking at her fingers absently while they wove haptic shapes in midair. "He won't. He won't. He won't won't _won't_." It was almost sing song, her cadence, hazel eyes tracking patterns it seemed only she could see.

"Excuse me?" The Professor said taken aback at Nell's sudden animation, wholly aware of the renewed invocations rising from the group at her back. Only the Valhallan seemed willing to keep an eye on her interaction with the seated youth, as she said she would. Even so, her panic stricken perception never strayed to the girl in question, fixed firmly on the Huntress. "What was that you said?"

"Lux won't break, not for you, not today." Her head cocked as though considering, her doll-like face framed in lank curls utterly devoid of expression or emotion of any sort. Worst of all were the words though, rattled off haltingly as though by barely memorized wrote, or at worst read poorly from a sodden page with ink running. "Already shattered in the dark, already remade in the light...His light...dancing on strings...strings that bind, strings that break...break break break break _break_...!"

As she spoke, a cold chill began to crawl down the Huntress' back, an instinctive reaction that made her want to move away from the Psyker at all haste.

A momentary flicker of unease from a woman accustomed to standing unflinchingly against the Creatures of Grimm, one her years of experience and certitude in herself managed to quell.

But that it had struck her at all...

 _'How...how did she know about Brindle, my intentions?'_

"You're very loud." The girl replied automatically once more, brows furrowing as she shook her head in a flurry of red tinged locks through which the Huntress could see the barest signs of raised scar tissue and glinting metal nodules. Plugs of some kind...

Up her sleeves as well, shifting and rising with the motion of her arms, the length of both bearing what looked sickeningly like brands and old ink work in a scrolling script she couldn't quite discern. Frankly it was enough to make one's gorge rise, though Glynda had seen far worse in her day, composing herself appropriately.

"Stern and sharp, but loud so loud...all of you Soulful...Soul-Full are. Something shining bright within, bright like a star burning away the dark and the whispers. Banishing, soothing, terrifying...bright, so very bright to keep back Her _Cataclysm_..."

"It's quite alright dear."

Suddenly quite intrigued, Glynda drew her crop in a smooth effortless flourish and gave it a curt flick. The Valhallan crying out in all too real alarm as the chair she'd been seated upon jumped as though alive, throwing the young soldier stumbling to her feet before skidding across the floor of the Infirmary just in time to catch Beacon's Chief Disciplinarian as she let herself fall back. Legs delicately crossed, scroll and crop upon her lap, posture poised and dignified while adjusting her spectacles with a professional's subtle flair.

"F-Frakking warp!? _Wych_! Throne save us, she's a _frakking_...!?"

"Call the Commissar! Get her on the vox...!"

"We do that and she strings us up by our...!?"

"The lines dead anyway, I can't...!?"

Curses and other pieces of foul vernacular mixed liberally with panic flew with abandon, the Imperials standing about the room suddenly on high alert, split between rushing the Huntress or the door. The loud cacophony doing little more than bringing a frown to both Nell's and the Huntress' faces if for vastly different reasons.

Nell seemingly put out by the sudden uptick in activity distracting from whatever imagined show she'd entertained, growing agitated...

"Enough of all that shouting, I think." For her part, Glynda was simply growing weary of the Imperium's vagabonds making a ruckus entirely against Academy policy, quite weary indeed. Perhaps a flexing of authority was in order. "You can all wait in the hall, I'll be finished momentarily."

Another swish had the door to the infirmary swinging wide on it's hinges, drawing the soldier's attentions just long enough for a cleaning broom to race through the air free of the nearest storage closet and set to work. Grunts of pain, terror, and confusion short lived as the janitorial implement spun, flipped, and thwacked the legs right out from underneath the hapless soldiers within moments.

The good witch not even bothering to turn and watch, far too intent on her subject to bother as the dazed and contused, quite possibly concussed Troopers were quite literally swept out the threshold. Door closing gently behind them, lock clicking into place.

"They...The Lost Remnants...They won't like that." Nell said with all the air of one discussing the weather, head turning towards the door. "Not at all, not at all. You scared them."

"I _disciplined_ them. And as for how they feel about me, I find I'm not so inclined to care at the moment." Goodwitch replied, affecting a kindly smile.

The same expression she'd used a hundred times before with children from the villages she'd passed through, cultivated while performing flashy cantrips and displays to their bubbling amusement and glee. Children were the cornerstones of such places, and their happiness often led to a parent's relief, relief meant less negativity to draw forth the Creatures of Grimm, and less Grimm meant less need for her in the first place.

"So, your name is Nell, yes? The one the other Imperials call 'Psyker'?"

"She knows this, _you_ know this." Nell snapped back suddenly a bit frantic as though responding to the word. Now if only she would inform Glynda of how _she_ knew this they might get somewhere. "Why ask? Not what rattles, no...no, answers. You want answers? Yes, Lux won't break, the Sister came for me. The Dragon fought her...my fault, I pulled the threads."

For the first time since she'd entered the confined space Nell looked at her, this time with real focus. It was...strange, to say the least, not just by the way her glazed eyes seemed to drift and meander upon features seemingly at random from the calendar to the ticking clock, but in how it felt.

In fact, the longer she maintained eye contact, the more the Huntress became vaguely aware of a strange impression behind her gaze, along the inside of her scalp.

A sort of caress, like a hand skimming lightly across a page...

"Why, if you already know?"

"I ask because it is polite and proper." It wasn't an unpleasant sensation per say, but it was hardly a comfort. Glynda was a Huntress however, ignoring the strange furor with utter ease, maintaining the brief connection she'd finally attained. "And yes I suspected as much, we had plenty of witnesses after all. Of course, given that we haven't actually met face to face, I thought this a fine opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Glynda Goodwitch, a Professor here at Beacon Academy."

"Know that. Why visit? Wait _no_...I know that too, but say it. Polite and proper...Proper and polite...Politely proper..." She rambled on, playing with the words like toys or pieces in some kind of game.

"Because I make it a point to know the names and faces of all my charges, which includes yourself so long as you are present on these grounds." Glynda nodded in firm reply, drawing Nell back from distraction. "And I would like to know why the Commissar and those serving under her seem to believe it right to attempt to isolate one of their own in such a way. Especially _from_ their own."

Catelin had been evasive about many things, the nature of her people's weapons, the scope and spread of Imperial materiel throughout the region...but this girl above all. Every other newcomer had been brought to their ' _Primus_ ' camp without delay, including even the wounded so far as in they could walk or at least be moved, every one except Nell.

Nell, who sat tucked away in a room only Catriona Catelin seemed able to enter freely, which she did so quite often. Guarded as much as the stubborn Commissar's quarters were with just enough bodies to be effective but not present too much suspicion at a first glance. A shame this was hardly Glynda's first glance...

 _'Why_?' Seems to be the question of the day, really.

"Yes, yes it is." Nell nodded along, prompting another ripple of unease fluttering down her spine. "Because they are scared, scared of me, scared of what I am." She began to speak again, unbidden, seemingly in response to Glynda's own...oh dear. That _would_ explain things. "Psyker, Mutie, Mutant, Trog, Braincase, Wretch, Nell...all names. All my names, I hear things, see things...I can speak in dark places, hear the whispers..." Her arm shot up, so inhumanly fast it made the Huntress' heart skip a beat, instinct making her jumpy.

Still, she needn't have bothered, Nell wasn't focused on her.

Instead she was pointing, out the window, out beyond the stretch of grounds and gardens into the horizon. A horizon where one could just see the faint flickers of purplish un-glow playing about the skyline. The Storm, the _Cataclysm,_ that strange name that had simply become acceptable despite none knowing its proper origin.

A designation that simply was. The _Cataclysm_ was the Storm, the Storm was the _Cataclysm,_ and whatever one called it...it bled.

 _'Ozpin needs to know about this, at once.'_ The dangers alone were enough to prompt a response, that Catelin had tried to hide this from them...

She made to stand, but was surprised when she found she could not. A thin fingered hand had found itself wrapped tight about her wrist, Nell hunched on her knees on the edge of the bed, somehow having moved without her noticing.

How!? Such a thing shouldn't have been possible, a trained Huntress like her being caught off guard...wait, just how long had she been sitting there?

Glynda blinked, finding it impossible to recall. It couldn't have been for the long minutes the clock ticking on the wall claimed it to be. She'd only turned her attention away for a second...she tried to pull her hand away, but found the smaller girl's grip impossible to break, like tempered steel. That too shouldn't be possible, her arms thin as reeds, while Glynda had her Aura...her Aura...?

"You should know, oh yes you should. Stern, but means well. Polite and proper." Nell spoke, focusing now on Glynda's mouth trying to speak but couldn't. "The Wizard should know too... _She_ seeks."

She let go of the Professor's arm, a rush of air filling lungs so quickly she coughed. "W-Who?" Glynda staggered to her feet, ashamed to find her hand clutched tight about her crop, having snatched it up on reflex. A reflex she firmly denied, an act which made Nell smile innocently...though now the she couldn't quite be so sure how 'innocent' it truly was. "Who do you mean? Seeking what?"

"The _Bound One_ , she seeks. She searches through the cracks in the cage, searches for the keys. Four keys, four pieces, four of four in the defiance of the Four."

The Psyker plopped back down on her behind in a puddle of dirtied robes, cocking her head like a bird at the older woman. And in that instant, the caress became a plunging knife, piercing and digging into the meat of her scalp. But it didn't hurt...that wasn't where the pain was coming from...

Images coming unbidden to the forefront at the sight, a pulsing stratum of vibrant terrible colors contorting and weaving about in a mad frenzy. Dark armoured figures garbed and armed for war unending, giants painted in the livery of Grimm overseeing a burning world, clashing with others of their kind in brutal contest waged across centuries. The grandest standing above the others, standing resplendent, howling up at a shattered moon...

Skeins of a web in anarchy, overseen by a glowing crimson Eye. An Eye staring straight...!

"...through the Witch in Red, searching for her...for the Sleeping Maiden down below...so far below, but why?" In that moment, Glynda's heart fluttered and brought her back, her jaw set and her eyes narrowing in intrigued uncertainty. "Why does Autumn still sleep? The Ill-Fated Crow failed to protect her...the Drunkard was too late, his fault! All his fault! If only it had been me sent to find her, if only Ozpin had trusted...but something is missing, something was taken...!?"

Glynda didn't stay to hear the rest of the Telepath's sordid diatribe through her thoughts, her deepest darkest reflections and musings, instead marching her way out the door straight past the disheveled Guardsmen waiting outside. None moving to stop her or take note of her unsteadiness, evidently having learned their lesson...just like she herself had.

The impressions of the learning seared into her thoughts.

Psyker...Catriona Catelin would provide answers for this. Right after she found a bathroom to...

"Scholamistress!"

Glynda turned around, almost losing her balance as the stone hallway she knew so well spun on its axis like a kaleidoscope.

That voice...speak of the Grimm, Catelin herself was striding up to her, bedecked in all her pomp and finery with that horrid skull-thing bobbing languidly in her wake despite what she'd been told of new policy. The young woman's expression was troubled, deeply so, enough to show through that novice facade of stern indifference that said Scholamistress knew one day would become a thing to chill the blood.

Enough years as a teacher, an instructor of Mankind's heroes, had given her that unique perspective. That ability to look at raw potential and see what might come of it, the good and the bad. Children like those of Teams RWBY and JNPR for instance, even among the newcomers such as crass Mr. Brindle and, as much as she hated to admit it, the impetuous Miss Stahl, all showing flickers of greatness.

But Catelin, unpracticed if determined...

"Madam Goodwitch, how fortunate. I was just looking for you." She was standing before her now, when had the Commissar gotten so close? Time was fluid, just like the bile in her throat. And the girl was speaking still, she should listen... "...well aware of tensions that lie between us, between my people and yours. I've acted impetuously, without proper respect in expectation of our situation, and I would care to make amends. The damages to your school, such a thing should not have been allowed to..." The skull's crimson gaze flickered, the light awash across her vision, just like the eye...that terrible Eye staring... "...but aside from this, we face a common enemy. We must stand united in the face of the Ruinous Powers assailing this world. We have the experience, you lack while you have numbers and power we do not. To that end, I had been considering something of an ' _experiment_ ' and desired your...Scholamistress!?"

Glynda was already falling forward into the younger woman's startled arms by the time Catelin even knew to react. Acrid vomit painting the front of the Commissar's freshly pressed dark coat before she could help herself, all rather embarrassing really.

And all the while, that great and terrible Eye stared ever onward...gazing at her, gazing at them all...

* * *

 **-End**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey all, a lot happened this chapter. Glynda learned a valuable lesson about the Warp and those that utilize it, Catelin's trying to make amends, and Valahallans need to learn to chill out. (Love those little Iceworlders, first Imperial Guard book was a Cain novel so I guess that's to be expected.)**_

 _ **And above all we've got an Aura powered Space Marine. Took Longer than I thought it would to be honest. Was bound to happen eventually given Aura is such a big deal with Remnant's inhabitants, though Raaf definitely seems to be regretting it now as he should.**_

 ** _If someone was going to be naive enough to try it, it would've been the Scout. Youth, makes everyone feel invincible._**

 _ **Would definitely like some feedback on that, thoughts, because everything is subject to change with this stuff if people absolutely hate it. Aura in this story is something of a filter, a sort of naturally evolved defense against the Warp, allowing people to draw the power of the Immaterium to enhance themselves. Is it perfect, no, given Yang's little flirtation with Khorne in the mess hall its most definitely not, though she's barely a few miles from a Warp Rift so take that with a grain of salt.**_

 _ **Raaf's reaction was something of a more concrete means of dissuading other Astartes from trying it, not that the others likely wouldn't already if asked. LEt me just preface this by saying I DO NOT plan on a bunch of Aura powered OP giants in power armor. Partially why I gave it to the kid who is without the Black Carapace.**_

 _ **If it's not sorcery then its definitely a grey area. In the chapter, the Raven Guard's Aura is awakened, like a dam breaking, and when it does inevitably something is gonna get swept up along with it. In this case its all that Psychological Indoctrination and ingrained goodness that allows Space Marines to act as though they truly have no fear. Because at least going by what I've seen, Astartes do experience fear, they just process it differently then a normal person by in large due to such things, stuff that lets them endure the Warp and other such things to a greater extent.**_

 _ **Is Raaf a coward now? No, wouldn't have made it to the Scout Companies if he were. And he's still got physiological benefits which help him respond to terror by fighting rather than fleeing, but he's lost his edge. And in a world beset by Warp Rifts that might make all the difference. Aura or no.**_

 _ **At least that's my justification, like I said I'm always open to suggestions and the like. Was also wondering if people would prefer longer chapters with longer waits or keep it as is? Generally try to keep it to 5k-10k words. Seems to be an average.**_

 _ **As a last thing, if you haven't already go read RedrumSprinkles 'A World of Bloody Evolution'. Pretty much what inspired me to do this and is ramping up in the EPIC scale as if it needed to, great story and I highly recommend.**_

 _ **Hope the chapter was enjoyable regardless, and hope to be updating again soon. - Mojo**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 15 - Blood and Iron -**

* * *

 **We named it Cretacia, from the ancient Baal sandscript meaning "Birth of Wrath." Like us, Cretacia was a consummate killer. Violence lived in its very air. Its winds were the lash of a terrible beast, striking out to flay us from the skies, its clouds, void-dark phantoms whose acid tears stripped the crimson from our warplate. Death met us at every turn, tested our resolve and measured our strength. We were as the angels from old Terran legend, trapped in hell itself. Yet for all our trials, Cretacia's wrath was far from spent.**

\- Amit, Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers, during the Declaration of Conquest, Cretacia, 238.M31

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Emerald Forest, Vale)**

The Space Marine snapped to consciousness to the sounds of rustling treetops, the cries of far off beast's sounding farther still as they always seemed to on this blighted poor excuse for a Death world.

Well beyond his dream haunted slumber and the howling cries of anger better left checked...

Sarkha's... _Caim's_ eyes sprang open with an intake of breath through his helm's clogged filtration grille.

A flickering ocean of crimson datum-screed and utter tedium met the Flesh Tearer's fierce gaze upon his return to the world of awareness. Blanketed in shade, his broad back to the iron-hard trunk of a towering species of tree. One of many such giants in this region's forests as he'd discovered these past weeks, vast creatures of fur, bone, and chitin...even some capable of turning the stone and bark itself to deadly purpose.

Even so, there was an order here amidst nature, totally lacking in the primal disarray of distant brutal Cretacia. Much like his home world however, at least the native wildlife proved somewhat of an interesting challenge...

Senses swiftly shook off the transhuman properties of his _Catalepsean Node_ as gene-forged muscle tensed and flexed instinctively in a rush of naturally produced adrenal supplements and steroid enhancers exuded by his foremost heart. Primed and combat effective in the time it took a mere mortal's pulsing organ to beat twice, ready to face whatever new threat had roused him after...after approximately nineteen minutes and twenty-four seconds of light repose according to his helm's chronometer.

Longer than he'd been expecting, longer than he'd meant to...an unforgivable lapse.

With the crunch of dead leaves and the keening hum of active power armor, Caim slowly worked himself upright. Autosenses within his helm keyed towards the distant roar that had awakened him, or what he believed had woken him.

It wouldn't be the first time dreams had mixed poorly with reality after all. A fact all the more poignant to the Sons of the Angel, to men such as him.

An odd weight caught his attention as the Space Marine made to clutch for his weapon, the chainglaive discarded carelessly amidst the matted roots and detritus beside him. A mangled corpse slumped and dangling from his mailed fist by the ribcage in brutal mockery of puppetry.

Male dressed in tattered robes of spun wool, aged within middling years, flesh heavily scarified with sigils that offended the eyes of any with sense left in their heads yet drawn and weathered by days of hunger and deprivation within the elements.

A misbegotten follower of the fell powers lurking within the Warp beyond real space.

He'd died poorly, slowly, as all heretics in his place deserved. The bones constituting his chest cavity rendered to so much dust while the organs they sheltered had been half liquefied on impact. His spine clutched tight in Caim's mailed fist.

Looking about, he quickly became aware of other bodies scattered amidst the sheltered glade, most rendered or ripped apart into shapes barely recognizable as having once been human or their strain of it at least. Tendon and intestinal effluvia scattered to all corners across bark, branch, and bramble.

The site a fitting abattoir to wholesale slaughter, committed in service to a fallen Emperor and a fallen Father.

At least a dozen perhaps, overall. The lot of them slain by something akin to an animal or beast, or by an Astartes of appropriate savagery for which grace and restraint were foreign concepts.

As was only proper, these heretics being the last of those the Guard forces or the Daemon beasts had failed to eradicate. Those that had fled into the forest upon the abrupt arrival of the machine automata and their brightly colored handlers. Who had evaded death by scant fortune and blind luck...

 _'...but not anymore.'_ He had made certain of that, hadn't he? Though it had taken far longer than expected, almost shamefully so. This world's strange wildlife proving more voracious, its forests vast with thousands of nooks in which to hide, and the heretics had been cunning in their way.

...but no longer.

Caim's fingers twitched in haptic spasm at the thoughts of combat and the emotions upon which they drew. Seeking a weapon to wield, a foe upon which to sate himself.

Hate for the strange Creatures he had slain and who hunted him even now relentlessly, hate for the unfamiliarity of this strange world and its alien nature, hate for the Warp anomaly bleeding itself raw into the sky that the traitors had screamed their devotions to even as they were cut down...

...confusion for the state in which he found himself placed.

Amaranth Prime, that blighted dust ball of a world where he and those of his Kill-Team had been sent to hunt down and slay the foul dregs of Chaos rumored to have made planetfall there.

A simple mission, in so far as anything involving the Warp could be considered simple, aided by the timely arrival of a flock of Raven Guard patrolling the system.

Battle had been had, veins opened to paint the dusty steppes, until all that remained had been the Sorcerer in blackened armor much like their own clocked in shadow. So dramatic, so assured as any tainted soul touched by the Warp claimed to be.

The Raven's had taken their futile shot, feeble and pointless as it was. Scouts standing little chance in the face of such a foe.

And as they died, Gwyn of the Storm Wardens, leader of the Kill-Team to which Caim was assigned had ordered the frontal assault. Seeking to end the threat of whatever ritual the Fallen Astartes was looking to attempt with swift certainty. And so they had, his brothers mounting one last desperate offensive, coring their way through the chaff that had tried to stop them as they went.

Then the corona that had blinded them all...the portal writhing about lashing with tendrils of blackened flesh and talon...that staring crimson eye bleeding its malice into their minds...

 _Hmph..._ To speak of bleeding...

From the corpse on his arm, blood dribbled from a mouthful of shattered teeth and a throat raw from screaming, and it disquieted the Astartes how the cretin could have died in such a manner without his notice?

Or if he hadn't, why he'd deigned to leave it be?

Of course at the sight of all that vitae, that glistening lifeblood, Caim lost interest in the how and why. Lips curling back while angel's teeth pricked his bottom lip with keen points, drawing a trickle of pleasant coppery warmth, the rich blood of the Astartes.

Feeling keenly as he always did that lingering sense of longing in a mouth parched by crimson needs unfulfilled, the first of the curses of his gene-sire gone neglected for too long.

The second darker curse was there as well, as it ever was and ever would be. Caressing his mind and humors with blackened barbs painful if familiar.

 _'Not today, soon, but not today...'_

A simplistic mantra that had carried him thus far through decades of urge and wrath, and would carry him still farther until he succumbed to the beast within, or death claimed him. He knew which one he would prefer.

 _'...But not today...'_

With a low crunching * _squelch_ *, he wrenched his hand free of the body and tossed it aside nonchalantly, pointedly ignoring the pleasant ochre red paint coating upon his once black vambrace. Traitor blood was no way to relieve the thirst, tempting as it was.

The Flesh Tearer was not so reduced...not yet anyway.

Instead of removing his helm and tasting this world's air properly, he snatched _Acus Sanguinem_ from the ground and waited. The weapon's accustomed heft held at the ready with the ingrained experience of decades, the Spirit of the Machine snarling beneath armored fingertips. It's serrated teeth thirsting once more to bite into the foe, a worthy one, not like the scattered detritus littering the forest floor.

Seconds ticked by, turning to minutes until finally at long last, just when he was beginning to think himself foolish and the sound a figment of his savage dreams...a roar split the air once more. Sounding from the North, echoing through the thick copse of trees ahead of him, and it wasn't alone.

Now that he was awake, his sense fully keyed outward bolstered by his helm's sensorium, he could detect other sounds mixed within the first through the _Lyman's Ear_.

A chorus of monstrous whoops, shrieks, and howls. Bestial vocals working in concert with one another, several distinct tones where to an unaugmented individual there might only be the one. The sound of it undercut by another greater roar, a noisome humming swelling to overshadow all else, the clambering constancy of it familiar from a lifetime past.

Tension relaxed, the thirst subsided...The tempo weighing on his senses in a manner that for the briefest instant smothered the rage...the black retreating, retreating before a sense of...no, not calm. A false emotion...

The Rage of Angels rarely allowed for such a thing...

And like that the momentary incantation, whatever it had been be it a weakness in resolve or a spell of the enemy, was broken.

Caim lumbering forth into the dark, brushing aside hanging creepers clinging to his armored frame as the smoldering embers of his wrath once more ignited with a grunt of dark humor, drawn inexorably towards the sound of...

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Saffron Wastes, Vacuo)**

 _"...01000011 01110101 01110010 01101001 01101111 01110101 01110011...quite intriguing."_

Darius Trager, Sacristan of the Knights of House Stahl, conveyed through a throat almost utterly remade through the applied use of extensive augmentation.

The sound produced by the bionics, drawn from sutured flesh and synthesized, blurted forth as a screeching avian trill of binaric intonation sounding wide and far over the parched and barren landscape its speaker surveyed with cold slate grey eyes back lit by subtle modification.

Blessings of steel and artifice, these merely chief examples among the several similar additions whirring and writhing beneath the voluminous hooded robes adorning a broad shouldered hulking corpus that could have rivaled a lesser member of the Astartes in sheer scale. The vestments once the verdant Green of his patron house, now stained a garish purple in splattered swathes, the lingering chemical effect of a Daemonic entities blood mingling with the fabric now fluttering in the wind of an alien world.

And what a world it had been these past weeks. A seemingly limitless expanse of sloping dunes laced with sedimentary crystal particulates rendered a vivid crimson through mineralogical process, interspersed every so often with ocher tinged outcroppings and ridge lines worn smooth and stunted by long years of harsh near constant erosion.

The adept could sympathize, much of what little papery thin flesh remained visibly unmodified rubbed raw and tattered by dust storms so severe to the point crystal particulates cut like shards of glass, or otherwise peeling and mottled to an abused leathery brown under the withering radiation of the system's lone primary star.

Such might have proven debilitating to most, but to one such as him it was merely an inconvenience to be studied, treated, then ignored by dint of nerve dampening. In the early days since landing in this thrice cursed dust bowl such diversion had acted as a gratifying draw of processing memory, each new discovery sparking renewed interest.

So many things deduced in that first minute since realizing he no longer stood on the fields of Cadia, watching as the _Verdant Dawn_ and his Mistress strode towards what was almost certain death alongside their fellows. For one, this world possessed an atmosphere well in line with unaugmented human tolerances, including an abundance of those gaseous compounds necessary to support life.

And _was_ supporting life, fairly intelligent life at that, indicated by the presence of bandwidth signals and communications traversing the air, garbled but undeniably present.

 _" **[[DICTUM Designate 1.0.380** : __An entire world upon which to find oneself hosting a variety of disparate climates, and yet to be thrust into a place so inimical to baseline human function as to be almost laughable. An unexpected statistical outcome in execution, indeed, while displaying a concerning pattern of events in the process. **\- TERMINATUS.]]** "_

 _'A concerning pattern indeed...'_ He pondered the log before shunting it aside to the depths of his intelligence core for later analysis and quick reference, the processes completed in the time it too him to take an idle step off the edge of the outcrop.

Robes billowing about him as he fell the meager twenty or so feet to the sandstone base, revealing momentary glimpses of crafted ablative armor, support rigs, and wriggling mechadendrites all shaped about a withered husk so far removed from the sack of meat and pulsing organs that he'd been born with as to be almost unrecognizable.

Much of it bearing the fresh scars of battle, both upon Cadia against the Traitor scum and these new local Daemonic manifestations. The 'Grimm' as they were referred too, this particular variety lurking in the sands awaiting unwary or under-prepared passersby. Trager cared little for he was neither, trusting in the sand-clogged pistons and leaking hydraulic compensatory backups to see him safely to the ground without incident.

Such was the strength of the machine that he hardly registered an impact that would have reduced standard bone structure to splinters. Legs juddering momentarily before riding the concussive force, using it to bound him forward at speeds far exceeding that of a baseline human, and with far greater efficiency.

He'd based the design off of Skitarii variants after all, namely that of the Secutarii or 'Tech Guard' with whom he'd had a great deal of interaction in the defense of the Titan God machines the _Verdant Dawn_ had served alongside. Improved and adjusted of course in accordance with tradition over a lifetime's adherence to the teachings of the Cult Mechanicus...two lifetimes...a life stolen...

Such was only to be expected, obviously for a Tech Pri... _01100101 01110011 01110100..._ Sacristan...he was _Sacristan._ Responsible for the care of the _Verdant Dawn_ and its pilot...

 _"...remember me, you traitorous iron-hearted knaves! Your perfidies shall come to naught! The House of Stahl will never submit to such foul treachery, such foul...!?"_

The memory of a dark face, made pale by classic fear response and electro-stimulated excruciation. Grey eyes much like those Trager now bore, exactly the same in fact down, staring back at him with a defiance he'd logged at the time as...admirable, if utterly misguided.

Now he felt it chiefly in the latter category...the memory-datum recollection accompanying another flicker of pain response from the segmented data stacks constituting much of his brain. He was a Sacristan...but had been a Magos...once? Had he, he couldn't truly recall...only the mission, that and his knowledge?

A mechanically motivated digit, thin and curiously delicate for its intended purpose, moved to caress beneath the hood, tracing over the wrinkled balding scalp studded with input nodes and shifting antenna to stroke the cylindrical intelligence core worked into the left side of his skull. A precious commodity, despite the decades old signs of repairs made in the wake of the coming of the Hive Fleets, old wounds to skull and data stacks that had almost terminated his existence...and _had_ in some respects.

 **"Truly, ' _Stand Tall, Stand Firm'._ A fitting epithet for such an environment, eh Gannicus?"** His vision swam after a few exploratory steps, skull aching sharply as though a knife had driven itself into the base of his wrinkled scalp and twisted. Awareness drifting back to the bloody night on long lost Ambria, where his High King's Mount, the _Lord of the Verdant Twilight,_ had been dragged low by the weight of a Tyranid Bio-Titan. Torn asunder and the Lord Gannicus Stahl along with it.

His final words cursing the Xenos, exalting his Heir and his young sister-wife to future triumphs, and charging the Sacristan to protect them...naming the Adept his most loyal friend...

The pain overrode even his chemical dampeners, chapped lips thin as reams of parchment curled derisively in amusement as they worked. The voice passing between them rasping, corrupted by a tinny metallic echo and thick with saliva. **"Alas, it appears the Universe seeks to thrust me into the abyss once more, friend. The chances of...** _01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100...!?_ **"**

A blurt of abrupt confusion shattered the reverie, and rightly so. He'd spoken aloud with his flesh voice, without conscious consideration or thought...or at least not his thoughts...or were they?... _ **ERROR**_

Such behavior was concerning, disturbingly so in that there was no reason to express his personal musings in such a manner. And with such an overabundance of...drama. Disquieting, quite so.

By its very nature, the syntax and vocal articulations comprising the standard speech patterns commonly employed by the greater bulk of un-augmented humanity was flawed by magnitudes of gross inefficiency. Being ponderously slow in practice, unwieldy to execute with any real precision and even then could result in failure. Piteously liable to misinterpretation by dint of simple phrasing, errors in intonation, and a host of other non-verbal cues and mannerisms.

Far superior the binaric screed-cant and partitioned data-bursts inherent of Lingua-technis, surely. Through which one's emotions and meaning could be perfectly quantified, collated, and then succinctly summarized at the very speed of thought without all the tedium of actually holding a conversation.

 ** _"[[Canticles Borealis, 6.15: 'Inefficiency is a slope whereupon one slides ever downwards, by degrees, until one reaches the nadir unknowing.']]"_**

Inefficiency was the dreaded enemy of progress, the doom of quantifiable sound production, and must be avoided at all costs. He had a mission here upon this world, could sense the _Dawn_ mewling in restrained irritation several hundred kilometers distant, bearing its pain proudly if in silence as something or someone sought to dig into its secrets.

The ill fortune, the dishonor...where was Vivian? Was she dead or wounded? Perhaps captured? She can't have allowed such to occur unchallenged, could she? How would he feel?

Sadness? A flicker of righteous anger? Affectionate recollections of a minuscule infantile youth wrapped in green silks staring up at his mutilated features with eyes the same shade and...smiling?

Possibilities whorled inside his cogitator driven processes, highlighting and comparing likely variables, discarding the seconds long effort as an inefficient waste of valuable computing capacity. He could not affect the situation the Scion might have found herself caught up in, and expressing the closest thing to worry of which he was capable would only damper morale and spur on potentially critical decisions in unbecoming haste...

Still, if she had been harmed...his response might skew dangerously towards 'Retribution'.

 _Enacting Quarantine Protocols on Emotional Cores - [Imperative]_

A worrying prospect for another day he wondered while the cool sensation of calm washed across a heated mind, auspex scanners noting a patch of crimson sand shifting as something darted past a few meters distant.

A trick of the light spurred by the landscape, or so it seemed for any not apprised as Trager himself could claim.

 _"...[Reporting, DESIGNATE:_ SIGMA 117-Harkin: _Magos, contacts inbound from Northwestern Approach_ ]... _"_ A blurt of binaric cant trickled across the Noosphere, carrying with it accompanying data packets apprising him of the situation as SIGMA 117-Harkin understood it. Such miraculous efficiency, far better than the needless seconds it would have taken to explain otherwise. _"...[Query,_ _DESIGNATE:_ SIGMA 117-Harkin: _Response_?]..."

Darius' eyes rose as he skidded to an abrupt halt, peering out from beneath the fluttering brim of his hood to stare out at three separate approaching dust clouds converging upon his position. No, four including one in reserve thinking to approach and observe from the rear, or perhaps cut off escape?

At first he suspected more of those burrowing xenoforms, discarding the notion abruptly when the unmistakable roar of engines began to play across his auspex receivers. Intriguing, it seemed he was to have his first contact with the inhabitants of this world...Concerning, they knew not of the Emperor or the Mechanicus, meaning his platform to negotiate relief was tenuous at best.

The provenance of his 'saviors' could also be called into question, the makeup of what he could discern of the front coming vehicles a varied mashup of differing components and varied templates. Not all too dissimilar from the vehicles captured and subsequently desecrated by association with Ork raiders.

All completely lacking in uniformity but for a singular prominent sigil adorning their hulls, an image that he captured and compared via Noosphere against this worlds strutums of data. A success pinging in hid conscious thoughts, auspex returns determining it to belong to a small raiding clan that frequented the area and posed a relatively moderate danger to travelers...in simper terms they were naught but common bandits, how quaint.

 _[_ Command Authority _:_ _Do not engage. Maintain cover until instructed. Execution denied.]_

 _[Acknowledgement,_ _DESIGNATE:_ SIGMA 117-Harkin: _Compliance_ _, Magos._ ]

Thin lips pursed to the point they began to crack and bleed, Trager stood and allowed the trio of marauders to approach unchallenged if not unrecognized. Threat sensors indicating five separate bio-signatures spread throughout the oncoming ground cars, for the moment marked out in orange tracery highlighted against his vision.

Their leader, nominally marked out by his place of honor in the largest of the vehicles that stopped directly in front of the Tech Adept, stood perched behind a mounted heavy stubber of crude design. A thug all thickset muscle garbed in spiked leathers and cloth wrappings complete with broad goggles to filter sunlight, leaning over the weapon seemingly intrigued while his fellows whooped and hollered over the roar of their engines, carving circular furrows in the ground as they attempted some crude form of intimidation.

All quite loud really...an inefficient use of fuel. A disgraceful blasphemy.

The scout marked out before maintaining his distance, perched atop a smaller craft built for speed and not much else, monitoring the confrontation from afar.

Trager could sense their trepidation through the chemical responses present in the leader at least, his hands lifting the goggles from wide eyes likely trying to comprehend the majesty of the machined being before him. A common emotional response to those uninitiated in the capabilities of the Omnissiah's gifts, unable to bear the weight of their flesh's own fallacy.

"Well well well well well...what do we ave' ere', boys?" His question was muffled by the dust clogged rag hung about his mouth and almost lost to the revving engine scream of the other's machines, though both proved inadequate in concealing the cruel leer building along square jawed features. "Ain't you an ugly bugger, big too, ain't ya?"

At that the other transports wheeled about in arterial sprays of blood tinged particulates, flanking their lead on either side.

One was constructed in similar fashion to the central truck, a gunner manning the weapons array towards the back with an accompanying driver's seat set into a low riding canopy that did little to spare them the bite of the environment, all of them caked in thick layers of dust and clinging grit.

The last vehicle to stop proved smaller and lacking a dedicated turret, but possessive of a larger bed and cargo space with barrels lining the sides. Supplies and fuel, this 'Dust' substance he had stumbled across in his examinations of this Remnant's culture. The rest of the available space no doubt dedicated to carrying their ill reputed earnings with them overland.

It would serve the Adept's purposes nicely, its driver younger than the others...inexperienced?

"Big one, hey hey we sure this ain't no fancy mech!?" The Gunner of second vehicle called, this and wiry with a cruel gleam in his eye. No doubt he wanted to utilize the weapon he sported, or perhaps draw the crude ax hanging at his side, his chemical excretions all but declaring an overabundance of some chemical stimulant playing rife in his blood stream. "Atlesians lost a ship round here, did they? Could be it's cargo from one of the shipments outta Vacuo. Don't see why they dressed it all up though."

"Nah!" His driver countered, hunched over his instruments, glowering at their intended mark. "Didn't hear nothin' bout any flights these days, though the _Cataclysm's_ been playin' hell with the receivers, maybe one made a go at it and went down!" Bleary eyes stared back at the adept, finally acknowledging the sheer size difference...likely a catalyst for their believe he was some sort of hulking servitor...no, this world didn't utilize servitors or slaved flesh to purpose. Inefficiency heaped upon inefficiency. "Damn big clanker ain't it?"

But that word, what he'd said before, 'Cataclysm'. Some subliminal psychic response triggered by proximity to the prevailing Warp rifts assailing this and other regions throughout this Planet's atmosphere...he knew this, had experienced it first hand upon a cursory examination of his damaged memory core. The addition sudden, without context beyond what it was applicable to.

Concerning, very concerning...no tie for polite conversing then. **" _Hmph_...I am no mere construct, Cretins. Of that assumption, I would disabuse you."**

"Ah hell, it talks!?" The band reeled, expressing differing microcosms of unease or shock, all except the bandit leader who leaned closer. "Now ain't that somethin' ya don't see every day. Eh boys?"

So, the thug was slightly more intelligent than his appearance suggested. His easy confidence spreading to the others, their bold gestural expressions and demeanor returning in response with a lingering undercurrent of nervous suspician.

Pack mentality at its finest, probabilities skewed ever further towards inevitable ends.

 **"Indeed, I am capable of speech. Now if you ruffians are quite done gawking, you may have noticed I require your assistance."** Trager followed the statement with a slight nod towards the closest pattern of vehicle, perfectly modeled to accentuate his meaning. More inane underlying gestural cues...precious seconds where he could have been moving towards his goal wasted. **"Vacuo, Designate: Kingdom."** He garnered the name from his research, an oasis-based settlement among the chief population centers upon this world, a so-called 'Kingdom'. **"You will take me there, immediately."**

And from there he would pursue passage eastwards towards 'Vale', the closest settlement in conjunction with his distant awareness of the _Verdant Dawn's_ augur signature. Get to the _Dawn,_ ascertain the physical and spiritual states of both Engine and Pilot, act accordingly to ensure the viability and purity of the Omnissiahs's blessed servant.

A trio of objectives to be achieved without petty delays, or days spent meandering in these twice damned wastes. A vehicle would save several hours, unfortunately...

"Oh ho, looks like the Atlesian wants to boss us around like always, boys!"

Darius narrowed his eyes at the brute from underneath his hood, detecting with ease the disrespect laden in his the man's vocal articulation, allowing the embers of rage to smolder through his emotional cores.

The calculus of the next few minutes adjusting with every second this flesh bag continued to draw breath. Of course such things were often inevitable when involving the interference of fools.

 **"You will not comply?"**

"Now now, not sayin' that. I've just got a...let's call it an idea, a trade off, what you boys think?" He called with an arm raised to the applause of his companions, the other surreptitiously keeping his stubber squarely trained on his target. "You Atlesians are all supposed to be rich, right? Least you'd have be to afford all...that." A thrust of a meaty finger towards the obvious gleaming bionics showing beneath the Adept's robes, scoured to a near mirror sheen by the sands. "Let's just say you give us everything ya got on you, few fingers, maybe the arms, seein' as you won't be needin' those to get around. And in return we don't take everythin' for scrap and leave the fleshy bits...ya still do have some flesh bits yeah, not just...eesh."

He made a crude mocking facial cue, waving his open palm before his eyes.

 **"I ask again, you will not comply?"**

"Pfft...! Get a load of this thing, ' _I will not comply'!"_ He imitated in a nasally halting tone and haptic gestures evidently supposed to act as mimicry to machined sacred function, seeming quite the seizing fool in Darius' eyes. The stubber remaining fixed on the Sacristan's position as were the other weapons carried by his band. "Maybe beg a little bit? Might leave me inclined to let you keep that funny voice box you got on ya."

Calculating scenarios of personal intervention... _Calculating...Calculating..._

Despite the damage to his exterior frameworks inflicted by warfare and weather, reflexive combat at such extreme quarters wasn't impossible. Trager surmised he coud perhaps bear five to seven seconds of sustained fire before core biological functions were jeopardized beyond hope of repair. He would needs eliminate the Gunners first and foremost, starting with the leader...he might even re-initiate his Emotional Cores as to enjoy the experience.

Probability leaned towards his survival in the short term, however cumulative injury would slow his advance, threathen his objectives leaving him vulnerable to other more serious threats.

 _[Query,_ _DESIGNATE:_ SIGMA 117-Harkin: _Threat to Principal Command Authority registered. Response?_ ]

More inane laughter sounded at the display, threat indicators marking out at least three separate personal weapons hidden and interspersed between the others, hands slowly drifting now the conversation was reaching what they viewed as the clear conclusion.

"Dunno, Boss, not sure this was such a good idea." The lone driver answered, seeming less amused then the others, his bearing tense in his seat. He'd evidently noticed the wriggling movements occurring beneath plum robes, "I say we leave just im'. Gotta be bad enough lookin' like some cobbled together mess of nuts and bolts..."

 _[Query,_ _DESIGNATE:_ SIGMA 117-Harkin: _Response?_ ]

 **"Child, remain seated and do not reach for the weapon hidden at your right hand side."** Darius registered the look of surprise marring the younger man's face, filing away the reaction as amusing before moving swiftly to belabor the point. **"I will be requiring you afterwards. Discerning the correct operations of your vehicle would prove...tedious."**

"Wha...?" The young man stiffened but remained seated, just as Darius had surmised he would in the majority of his scenarios...good, the boy now had an eighty-seven point four six chance of surviving the next two minutes.

" _Oi_!? What you on about, Clanker!?" The bandit chief snarled red faced through the grime, both hands steadying his weapon now, barrels rapidly spinning and spitting into full activation. It's battered spirit voicing its agitation, several systems experiencing increased strain under the debilitating effects caused by a lack of proper rites of maintenance. "Don't think I won't cut you to scrap!?" He slammed a fist against the mounted weapon, eliciting a tinny squeal.

Still, it would take within three to four seconds or so to fire by his estimation. Hard rounds likely tipped with this world's curious Dust Reactive substance would spit forth and bite into the layers of plasteel wreathing the Sacristan's vital organs, most turned aside...but not all. His companion only adding to the storm of weapon's fire, overkill by degrees.

A harrowing prospect were Darius alone in the face of such dangers... _if_ he were alone.

 _[_ Command Authority _:_ _Execution Authorized on approved targets. As it is said "We are all but a weapon in the right hand of the Omnissiah. Cogs in the sacred mechanisms of his will". Engage.]_

 _[Affirmative,_ _DESIGNATE:_ SIGMA 117-Harkin: _Compliance_ ]

"Biggest problem with ya damned Atlesians!" The lead bandit called over the rising whine of metal and the gusting wind, grinning wickedly though nonplussed at his targets lack of reaction. Most would probably be trying to run, or attack, or at least try to talk their way out of what he intended for them...most. "Yer' all so damned haught...!?"

The principal target's gravelly accented baritone was cut off mid-word, lost in a grimace of discomfort, his teeth chattering and his eyes vibrating in his sockets. A disquieting sensation at the best of times that the Adept too suffered in stoic silence, precipitated by the buzzing whine heralding the activation of transonic weaponry.

On instinctive reflex, the band's leader removed his hand from his weapon and made to touch his face as though attempting to confirm what he could already experience with his limited flesh born senses.

His body remarkably continuing through with the useless motion long after his skull was parted from neck, misfiring nerves putting spasming fingers through empty air.

His hapless driver, similarly suffering under the debilitating effects of sonic armaments far beyond his comprehension, was dead before his simple augmented mind could even register that he was under attack. The mental processes brutally ended by a plasteel-shod hoof that caved in the back of his skull and forced what little remained into his steering apparatus in a blooming spray of greyish flesh matter forced from every orifice.

He was fortunate, spared the data-garbled shriek of triumph that followed. The sound loud enough to pop eardrums, even momentary scrambling the Tech Adept's implanted receivers in its voracity.

To their credit, the remaining designated targets managed a momentary glimpse of their killer. Bloodshot eyes fixated in horror upon a bionic frame of aegium multi-layered alloy only vaguely resembling anything remotely human, a crimson-clad wraith born out of myth from red sands to claim the lives of those deemed unworthy by its master.

A moment to stare, another to repent or reach for weapons fruitlessly...

And then the Sicarian Ruststalker was upon them with a speed no human lacking the blessings of steel or gene-forged improvement could hope to match. Their corpora reduced to ribbons of stringed viscera within heartbeats, the largest piece remaining a section of flensed skull speared along the length of a writhing prehensile data spike dripping fat and other bodily excretia...

 _[_ Command Authority _:_ _Pursue the scout, eliminate. Our presence must not be compromised by rumor._ _]_

Darius needn't have bothered with the reminder, Harkin-117 already bounding off after the far-flung shape of the now retreating outrider.

Long back jointed augmetic limbs designed to absorb and redirect impact, bear weight, and provide thrust granting speed and maneuverability, programmed prerogative and bitter murderlust granting a hunters glee that would see the cybernetic assassin to its prey whatever the cost.

Trager was glad to see the back of the Skitarii, the pain and discomfort exuded by the pair of transonic blades it wielded so viscerally fading with distance. With the added benefit of leaving him now alone, but for the shivering local.

The bandit had done as instructed, remaining fixed in his seat, unmoving but for the expected shivers and quakes common in baseline human fear response. Darius' ambient auspex readings detecting a slight spike in ammonia, indicating the young man had soiled himself.

Excellent, he wouldn't need to waste time stopping to relieve such base organic callings. The adept eager to get on his way as he settled his bulky frame into the back of the idling ground car, satisfied to see his initial speculations regarding its load bearing capacity and suspension were well in line with the reality if somewhat generous.

 **"Vacuo."**

"R-Right away, sir! Right! I'll get you there, quick as can be. Any...Anywhere really, even all the way back to Atlas! You just say the word...!?"

 **"Boy."**

Said boy stiffened, his eyes still fixed forward, unable or unwilling to look back and acknowledge his passenger visually. It mattered little, he could still speak. "Y-Yes, Sir?"

 **"Do endeavor not to cause any delays, or harbor ill thoughts of rebellion."** The adept's voice was a machined growl, barely more than a whisper over the rushing wind and shrieking howls of a Sicarian with prey in sight, intended for one soul to hear and understand. " **Y** **our presence is a benefit to expediency, not a requirement. Is my explanation understood?"**

By the manner the ground car juddered, engine howling as wheels skidded about in thick sprays of particulate matter, he dubbed his attempt intimidation sufficient.

Allowing the lapse into self reflection and internal diagnostics, the creaking of an abused frame, the bumps in the road and the inevitable arrival of Harkin landing into a crouch on the bed beside him, securing a grisly trophy to his carapace frame that had the driver gagging through streaming tear ducts...all of it fading but for the mission.

Get to the _Dawn,_ ascertain the physical and spiritual states of both Engine and Pilot, act accordingly to ensure the viability and purity of the Omnissiahs's blessed servant... _ **SLAY THE FOE**..._

Get to the _Dawn..._ Get to the _Dawn..._ Get to Vivian...

This mantra playing on vapid repeat throughout his cogitator driven consciousness. A new mission bolstered by the bass rumbling roar of the ground car's engine.

A might bellow that carried far beyond...

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Emerald Forest, Vale)**

...pouring from a clamorous waterfall played out in a cascading torrent of primal majesty. Beautiful, seemingly unyielding and inexorable...

Yet for all its power, from the outcropping upon which the Flesh Tearer knelt at a distance. It almost seemed like silver tear tracks were spilling down the rugged face of the cliffs beyond. A face weeping in bitter disgust in being forced to bear witness to such gathering of such tangibly blatant corruption as arrayed below.

Throne, there must have been dozens...no, hundreds of the nightmare creatures of every shape, manner, and size. All of them jostling and writhing for space within the boundaries of a vast moldering structure, ruins of a sort.

Crumbling towers and dilapidated buildings that might once have been habitation blocks stood either supported by leaning stone pillars cracking with age or built directly into the base of the gully itself.

The system linked by tiered levels of stone-shod pathways and boulevards that both reached for the grandest heights or vanished deep down below where cloying swathes of mist obscured the true bottom of the gulch, so thick even Caim's helm lenses proved unable to piece the furthest depths.

All of it designed as though to accentuate the spiraling Temple at it's center and push it further into focus, a cathedral of a kind going by the statuary and mosaic murals worked along the sides. Most little more than darkened patches, scarred to illegibility by centuries of erosion, mottled by creeping growths of moss, or simply worn down by the passage of time.

A pair of human shaped figures dominated what remained, ancient deities of some creation myth, one male and the other female...

A couple, linked by the hand, or perhaps locked in conflict? Detail was frustratingly impossible to glean after so long and from such distance, though one image stood out in particular however from among the rest. Placed towards the grasping minarets set at the place's peak had survived in the face of the others' degradation.

A glaring pupil of burning malicious crimson, staring unblinkingly upwards into what was no doubt the eye of the storm system raging above, the symbolism and significance not at all lost upon the Space Marine.

This no doubt being the place the Heretics had sought refuge. Where the shadow beasts seemed content to congregate, basking under a clear...no, no the sky wasn't clear, not at all...

Caim had torn his lenses away barely an instant after glancing upwards, unwilling to risk his soul a moment longer in the face of what very well might have been the Warp's unbridled gaze. Just that brief look alone had sought to twist his mind, the stalking fury of the beast within scratching at the worn cage within his soul, screaming its hatreds for the things below and at the hive they'd chosen.

They sounded just like the mewling ursine daemon squirming about in the dirt, it's stubby legs amputated and it's body a mess of lacerated meat and shattered bone. So pitiful, almost daring him to end its miserable misbegotten existence...and he obliged it, the butte of his glaive obliterating the thing's skull in a spray of dark matter burned away an instant later by the exotic weapon's power field.

It was hardly enough, the corpse dissolving seconds later as the rest of it's pack had. The lack of prize irritated him, setting his hearts pounding...

 _'...Focus on the structure...focus on the constants...ignore all else...'_

The ruins themselves, were distinctly Pre-Imperial by the lack of either sweeping Gothic grandeur or block standard utility so overwhelmingly present in more modern works. These perhaps dating back to the days when this foul hellhole of a world was first being settled whenever that could be claimed to have been.

Caim couldn't know for certain, content to leave such matters of the appreciation of arts and artifice to his gene-Brothers within the First Founding Chapter.

Those Blood Angels, so graceful, so noble, so prideful, so arrogant even in the depths of madness...he envied them that much, for that sense of purpose in an ancient vengeance. His own Chapter's rage oddly directionless, pure if far more terrible for it, even in comparison to those Chapters founded long after... _ **NO!**_

Such idle envies were distraction of the Storm...trivial matters.

 _ **'Might that the Angel grant him focus in his fury!.**..The beasts, look below, look to the prey...!?'_

His twitching gauntlet dug into the chainglaive's artifice, knuckles creaking under the strain, holding to a fraying thread of control in the rattle of the bloodstones hanging by chains from its frame. Seeking stability in the weapon's own thirst, an embittered ancient angry Spirit wielded by generations of his battle-brothers in service to the Deathwatch and the Imperium...that reminder of duty warring with the urge to dive into the throng below.

To descend into that shifting tide of claw and fang with those of his own, to rip an tear into the foe and bring the Angel's fury upon the Traitors/Daemons/did it even matter which?

 _'Yes, yes it does...'_

Damn the Flaw, that it might overshadow his own fury. He wanted to kill for his sake, to slay for his own anger, not that of a Father lost to crackling talons...

That he be reduced to such... _ **NO**!..._His armor shifted as Caim...as Sarkha, stood upright upon the jutting outcrop poised to strike much as he had a lifetime ago on Cretacia. Overlapping plates of ceramite and fibre-cables growling as the Astartes himself was, barely contained violence balanced on a blade's edge... ** _Sanguinius grant solace in the shadow of great wings_** _..._ his son born of the Primarch's blood, the Flesh Tearer, focusing on the silver litanies of his shoulder piece...not the black worn in mockery for a tedious task. One hoisted upon him as an excuse to keep him from his true brothers. _**Focus! The Blood keeps**..._as did the ocean of the rage seeking to swallow him underneath the tides...T ** _he black worn by screaming madness and brothers lost_**...as he was!?

 _'Not today, soon, but not today...'_

He blinked back the black tinged haze as one might tear away a clinging vine with barbs set deep. Well and truly aware of the temptation offered by which to fall once more, how easy it would be. The freedom it would bring to the lurking monster scraping at the cage within and stalked his dreams, one that would bathe itself in the blood of other monsters like those dancing below in fawning worship to their Throne-cursed idols before drowning in its own...and then, and only then would there be peace.

 _'But not today...one day soon, you will feed. We both will.'_ He told the wrathful presence slinking in the black, perhaps pointlessly, in damning promise.

He would fall, that much was clear. But Caim Sarkha was a Scion of Sanguinius, of the Emperor's most noble son slain in treachery, and what's more he was a Flesh Tearer.

And the Flesh Tearer's had never needed to suckle off of a dead man's rage to feed their own wrath.

They might fall, but that was only after their own weight became too great to bear, the Angel's but that one final burden...or so they told themselves. Wretched fools that they were...

Caim was a fool and he'd admit as much, but not so that he would doom himself by leaping headlong into a blighted pit of ravenous monsters without aid.

Such would amount to little more than pointless waste. _"The Wrath can only serve effectively if properly directed, if supported in cause of a greater goal..."_ such was what the Chaplains preached in their endless watchful sermons to screaming madmen. Damnable Appollus loudest of all, half a step from the Flaw himself...

If Caim gave into such impulse, this filth would die by the score before he fell, of that he had no doubt.

But he also had little doubt the Sorcerer responsible for seeing him here, Gadreel the Soul-Binder, Gadreel the Arch-Malachist of Amaranth, Gadreel the Traitor drew breath even still. The slayer of his brothers, of Kill Team Gwyn, still lived and had used their deaths as sacrifices for something more. Whether it was for nothing more than to simply to cast him into this world, or for some subtler purpose Caim knew not, nor did he care overmuch. His concerns far simpler...

The Mission wasn't done, the purge wasn't complete, and that _would not_ stand.

 **"I will find you, Heretic. This I swear, to the Angel and to the Emperor you deny."** His voice was a little more than a rasp, a voice worn thin and cracked by a deep seated irritation that knew little relief, made all the more terrible for being distilled through his respirator's maw. **"In the meantime, however..."**

Steeling himself properly with a hastily murmured litany, Caim Sarkha of the Flesh Tearers glared up into the baleful stare of the untempered Empyrean from behind red lenses, a bitter rictus expression playing behind his helm.

Not quite a grimace, not quite a snarl, certainly not a grin, but it was enough in the face of what was clearly the work of his enemy, in so much as he could and ever would deign to understand this sorcerers filth.

The work of his enemy worshiped by capering abominations, something he would see broken and in tatters. But to do so he would need numbers, and he knew just the place to...!?

Instinct born of a hundred battlefields, coupled with reflexes honed to the pinnacle of humanity as well as his armor's own gifted workings, saw him noticing the swiftly growing shadow and already near mindlessly moving to avoid it mere moments before the avian daemon struck in silent ambush from behind and above.

Talons large enough to encircle even a Space Marine, and sharp enough to rend said warrior to pieces in an instant, buffeting him near to edge of his chosen redoubt with a blow like that of a thunder hammer.

 _'No, I might have preferred the hammer..."_

Displaced rubble and dirt tossed skittering over the edge to fall into the mist strewn nothingness below and would have included the Astartes along with them had he not lodged _Acus Sanguinem_ roaring blade into the moss and muck in desperation to halt his progress. Teeth honed to a mono-molecular edge bit through in moments, tearing and ripping into the stone beneath, holding fast long enough for the Flesh Tearer to claim his footing and wrench the weapon about to face this new adversary, teeth bared behind his vox-grille.

A corvidae akin to those he'd seen flitting about the treetops from a distance, if larger and more decorated...more twisted. This one easily twice the size of a Thunderhawk gunship with a wingspan near twice as vast, skirting through the mist strewn air and lingering corruption on feathers the black of night.

The way it maneuvered through the air, with a chilling silence and grace that should have been impossible for a thing of such size, but nevertheless setting its fellow beasts below baying in sudden rapturous applause. Eyes not unlike that burning above swiveled in their sockets to catch sight of its prey standing in defiance below, a cruel beaked skull headpiece crowned by a splayed armoured crest daubed in swirling crimson designs that made his skull ache and his temper flare with renewed vigor just to lay sight upon them.

Something of such size should make noise, a beat of great wings, the rush air as it passed. The Daemon thing's curious silence bearing its own hallmark of danger, a psychic insecurity of a sort that might have eaten away at the resolve of lesser minds as they tried to process the in-congruence.

Yet such things found little purchase in the mind of a Space Marine. To Sarkha, the silence was merely another weapon to be examined, appraised, and cast down...

Hence the pain, a last spiteful mental by-blow...

Agony well worth accepting in the face of what came after, this King in the Sky splaying its impressive pinions broadly as it wheeled about before impossibly tossing a volley of ts own feathers forth in a wild strafing pattern. Projectiles gleaming with an edge as sharp as his own weapon's bite, each as large as he was tall.

Impressive...

Not expecting the assault, Caim found himself caught off guard as one of the feathers sheared through the outer layers of his silvered shoulder pauldron in a hail of actinic sparks and splintered ceramite, embedding itself in the redoubt's face with the bone-jarring force of a small caliber rocket.

Had he not moved reflexively an instant before, the feather would no doubt have pierced helm, skull, and curiass just as easily. A mortal would have been torn apart at such proximity, body rendered down to so much lacerated meat...

As it stood, Sarkha merely endured the bleating integrity alert chimes of his armor's systems before blinking them away in a fit of fury. Experience throwing him clear while the daemon passed above, already bearing down for another renewed assault. This time it seemed willing to come closer with talons splayed like grasping hands, eager to taste it's erstwhile prey for itself, seemingly surprised that he had survived not just the initial assault but a second as well.

He could attack even now, from range, though he dismissed the notion. The plasma pistol at his side would take precious moments to fire if it did at all, so testy a weapon it was. And besides, it wouldn't satisfy the urge poisoning his blood...

No, in the face of this threat, Caim stood poised to slay a dangerous predator. As he had first done so many decades ago with weapon in hand and had continued to do for nearly a century in the Emperor's service.

Through the haze of a Father's martyrdom and an Imperium that hated him for what he was.

Not an angel, never that, a hunter perhaps...

Both hearts pounding with such force the Space Marine could feel them against the back of his breastplate, hear the tattoo tempo in his ears while combat stimms and wrath coursed their trails along his veins and nerves...

Suffice it say, he was willing to wager he could surprise the bastard Spawn of the Warp a third time...the monstrosity arcing silently downwards with all pretense at subtlety abandoned.

Calculations and angles flitting through the Space Marine's mind in with each hissed breath as he watched its descent. Degrees of distance, speed and suspected trajectory...the work of a cogitator achieved in the instant it took to react. It was not simply their weapons and physical attributes that made the Emperor's Angels of Death such a damning foe after all.

Five seconds...three... _one_...!

The Flesh Tearer darted forth, loosing a roar in place of the blighted daemon's own. Amplified by multiple lungs and the chugging scream of a chainglaive driven inexorably forth, twisting the haft along with his armored bulk with a serpent's darting grace at the last possible moment...the absolute last. Striking for his target, namely the blazing eye he was swiftly coming to hate, as he knew he would.

The eye of one that had clearly expected him to run or evade like the prey it thought him to be, and was now wide as it realized its stark error.

Such foolish Prey...fools the both of them as he had misjudged as well, too shallow a cut. The ripping teeth coming up short of causing truly fatal harm, skidding off bone and sinew. The beast would live yet, in pain...

A scream to stop a mortal's heart finally torn from it's throat, petering off into agonized wails as the wounded beast wheeled about trailing an arterial spray of smoking matter in its wake.

Sarkha in his battered armor could care not, though it took all his fraying self control to pick himself up from the deep divot his armored body had carved into the loamy earth when he'd been tossed free and make for the treeline nearby.

One arm no doubt wrenched from it's socket and in desperate need of treatment, the other snatching _Acus Sanguinem_ up from where it lay wreathed the daemon's ichor-mist, viscera steaming off the clogged teeth.

His own blood broiling in his veins and setting an acid tinged tang on his tongue, those tiny black tendrils biting into his hind brain, urging him to turn and seek the beast down and slay it properly.

It mattered not if it's kindred would already be charging for this position, he would kill them just as readily and die in the attempt. An end worthy of a Flesh Tearer...

But still he had his duty to perform. Caim wouldn't die, not now, not to this beast or any beast...not yet.

 _'Not today...'_

* * *

 **-END**

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 16 - Offers and Warnings -**

* * *

 _ **Do you hear the voices too?!**_

\- Unattributed

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Menagerie - Kuo Kuana - Marketplace)**

"You do realize you don't need to keep your thoughts from me, Dear. That we can talk." Ghira started, glancing away from the colorful cloth tarps and swaying palms to where his wife stepped beside him. Her eyes currently fixed on his, her lips pursing to form that tiny pout she knew he could never have resisted even if he'd tried. "Don't you?"

"I...Of course, I do."

He affected a warm smile, realizing too late it was the one his wife could always see to the heart of. Perhaps it had been a bad idea after all to tour the markets, or perhaps it was more likely it had been a bad idea to bring Kali...no, no he'd needed to get out of the manor after that whole debacle. To feel the air and sun on his face after being cooped up in his study, pouring over a world seemingly in turmoil if the reports were any judge.

Plus, it had been so long since he and his Love could spend time together alone...or as alone as one in his position could be.

Guards in their trappings, a full quartet including his Captain of the Guard Saber Rodentia, marched at a reasonable distance. Perfectly spaced to cover all avenues, far enough away to give the married couple the illusion of privacy, if still close enough to react at a moment's notice.

In the face of such an entourage, and given his relative fame among the Faunus, it wasn't as though he could do much to conceal himself. People across the bustling shopping walk, from casual passersby to frazzled merchant took notice of the groups's passing. Drawing quite a crowd of onlookers, the appearance of not one but both their leaders something of note...and that saddened him.

He had been away from them for far too long...

Some shouted greetings to their chosen leader excitedly, while more expressed their concerns about the great rift still raging in the sky without fail and demanding answers he couldn't give. All stared on as Ghira Belladonna waved, doing his best to project an air of confidence he wasn't truly sure he possessed while sensing his wife's concerns growing by the moment the longer he stalled.

"Kali, it's nothing..."

"No Ghira, we both know we've been married too long for me to believe that."

A reasonable rebuke, and almost painfully apparent. Her voice projected at the proper level, just enough so that he might hear and no one else, effortlessly filling her dutiful role as the supportive Matriarch of her people flashing warm smiles and cheerful comments to familiar faces. Ghira loved that about her, just as he loved that she could discard it all in an instant of levity.

"And your brow furrows just like this." Her expression furrowed into what was obviously supposed to be some mock parody of his own, drawing a few scattered laughs from children and a few knowing glances from their mothers as they read the situation. "It's something of a giveaway, you're worried about something."

Women, men might know and adore them, but understanding...

"Hmm, I didn't realized I was so easy to read." He said with a gut deep sigh, silently signaling for Rodentia to widen the cordon and steer them towards the residential areas. The Captain replying only with a nod and a few subtle signs to his people, the throng dispersed as peacefully as could be hoped for. "The White Fang, how I handled things with Fennec..."

"You mean when the man stormed from our home, cursing your name and raving like a man possessed with every breath not spent screaming for revenge?" Kali finished, her protective edge in her tone making clear her own thoughts on the matter. "He was well out of line."

More than just that, screaming about how the leader of Menagerie was little more than a coward, a puppet figure head of the Humans and their Kingdoms. If Ghira had been in any less control of himself, especially when the man had mentioned his daughter in such a manner...his claws twitched irritable, a spasm he checked and discarded as soon as it had come.

"And he's just lost his twin brother, if he's to be believed, as well as his arm. I can't say I can blame him a moment's loss of composure." He released his grip on the tempestuous thoughts and drifted back to the moment.

His reaction in the face of the outlandish tale spun by the lone Albain, the absence of his brother starkly noticeable and of obvious discomfort. Corsac...Ghira had never much cared for the man, but disagreements over ideals or no, he'd respected the fox's singular drive to uplift the Faunus to a point of equality. And the circumstances of his demise were something he'd not have wished on his direst foe...

"Assassinated during some unprovoked assault, by Atlas war machines no less. What a mess, in the middle of all this, and to expect me to mobilize our forces in response. To incite a panic..." Fennec's face flickered to mind, pupils reduced to needled bloodshot pinpricks by sadness, pain-numbing stimulants, wrath...by the gods so much anger. "And I denied him."

"It's not as if you had much choice in the matter. Akai-Hana was always one of the White Fang's worst kept secrets, whatever their excuses about 'providing security' might've been." Kali went on, her own expression souring even further at the admission.

She of course knew full well that the extortion of that settlement at the White Fang's hands, the tyranny of it's citizens and the movement of illegal arms, had been on her husband's mind since the moment it had come to his attention.

One of many sacrifices he had to make to uphold his pacifistic methodology. He had sworn against the use of violent force when he'd stepped down as High Leader and passed the reigns to Sienna Khan, and to break that vow and bear arms against fellow Faunus, even to aid a struggling village of innocents...

"They're still our people, slain. Young men and women, young Faunus. Misguided perhaps, misled maybe, and now..." So much death, even now years after the Faunus Rights Revolution, nothing changing despite the sacrifices. "Such a waste."

"Atlas still hasn't come forward, then?" His wife asked softly in an attempt to steer the conversation forward before his thoughts could dwell and sour the day, her ears twitching in the rustle of the tropical winds. "Nothing at all regarding the attack?"

"Not a word, from General Ironwood or any of those working under him." Which was strange in and of itself, he knew. A fortress wiped off the map and threats... _terminated_ so one-sidedly as Fennec had described, by Atlas' standards such a thing should have been lauded as quite a victory. Yet the Northern Kingdom remained curiously silent, uncharacteristically so. "And this Storm, its as much a concern for them as it is us. Why choose now of all times to launch such an attack? Something doesn't feel right."

"Doesn't it? They've flaunted the Kingdom's arms restrictions laid down after the Revolution for years now. Given the news from Vale about their involvement in their Breach, Atlas was bound to retaliate eventually. Maybe the Storm is their excuse, something to distract them."

Ghira could feel his jaw tensing at her words, grateful that Rodentia had chosen one of the less traveled routes to their destination, for the chance to handle his emotions appropriately. This damned Storm, ever since it had burst into life overhead weeks ago their had been this...this edge to his humors, one that had befallen and been expressed by every Faunus in the region so far as he knew.

Like rain spurring melancholy, and perhaps presented the greatest danger beyond any physical effect of the phenomenon. Grimm flocked to negativity, and negativity seemed all this thing was capable of birthing. But it could be resisted...

"Regardless of the reason and the motives this is a tragedy, make no mistake. But to act rashly, when we can't even be sure of the full story, isn't politics. It would be..."

The feline Faunus fell silent, noting well that her husband already knew and understood her words better than anyone, callous and practical as they might be. Such things still had to be said, and he knew full well that she saw that as one of her less enviable, if more important tasks.

Kali was his precious partner in this world, his closest adviser in such matters for all that the world saw, the bed rock from which he built himself and his ideals and the net to catch him whenever he fell short. And in this, she was right.

"Progress, not vengeance. You had to refuse him."

"And in doing so, I fear in the process I've burned what little goodwill we had left within the organization as a result." He shook his head, feeling suddenly weary in a way he hadn't experienced since first beholding Adam's display of the new order of things. He could still smell the blood painting the truck, the sickly sweet scent of terror experienced by that purist survivor, the joy expressed by those around him as the abhorrent act was explained away with nary a thought. "That might cost us, far more than we'd like to admit. What if they try to hurt...!?"

Panic gripped him at the thought of what a man like Fennec might do, how he might express his rage. A momentary memory of a young girl with twitching ears poking from beneath ebon locks...

A soft hand, warm and gentle, rested upon his arm and snapped him out of the slip. Kali by his side, feeling the same way he did, thinking the same thoughts, but holding him steady and doing her best to smile through it all. "She'll be alright, Dear, wherever she is. Blake's a smart girl, she knows what she's doing."

He opened his mouth to answer her, perhaps to express some lingering worry, some deeply held fear...both still remembered how their daughter's last visit had ended all too well. The arguments and bitter words that had preceded her storming from the manor much as Fennec himself had only hours before, the tears and the sleepless nights that had followed.

Sadness warring with anger, warring with fear, warring with injured pride...Emotions drawn forth from without, yet plucked from within at the behest of things he couldn't understand, yet feel the lingering touches of inherently.

And he denied them, best he could.

"Of course, you're right. I'm sure she is." He nodded after a fateful breath, returning his wife's kindness and strength with a genuine smile of his own. The first in a long time, and all the more precious for it as he lay a broad long nailed hand across hers. "We raised her to follow her heart, we have to trust she'll choose the right path in the end. That she'll find her way home."

And he meant the words, meant them with every fiber of his soul and being as a Faunus and a Father...yet as he looked up at the broiling wound inflicted upon a once clear blue sky, he truly wondered if he shouldn't have been praying for the opposite. Blake might have been far away beyond his reach, but at least it was beyond this foul curse's grasp as well, or so he hoped.

"Sir!" Rodentia's voice cut through the moment like a falling ax, spurring the couple apart by the tension present in his voice and writ across narrowed features. "We...We have reports of a...of a situation developing in the housing districts, involving citzens. I recommend we turn back and...!"

"No, Captain." The scarred bodyguard fell silent and lowered his head under the grimacing gaze of his Lord as a pack member does before its alpha, as bitter such a metaphor might taste, it was apt. Ghira stood all the straighter, raising a hand to beckon to one of those under Saber's command. The gesture heeded and obeyed in an instant by the startled young guardswoman. "Please see my wife back to the manor, stop for no one and remain inside until I or the Captain states otherwise."

"Ghira...!" His wife made to argue, biting her lip when it became clear he wouldn't be swayed. It was pragmatism, they were both the Leaders of Menagerie, thus they couldn't both throw themselves into a potential danger.

"I'll be fine, Kali." He promised, leaning down to brush his lips across the top of her head between her ears before hardening his resolve. If the Captain saw fit to disrupt the day with it, the situation must've been serious...truly so. And it was developing...never a good sign. "Captain, you and your men are with me. You there..." he rounded on the dog-eared guard standing beside his wife, "...protect her. Keep her safe."

"Y-Yes, Chieftain!" The young Faunus saluted with a fist thumped to her chest, her eyes falling on her charge with open hesitation. "My lady...?" Kali nodded, affording her husband one last glance before she was whisked off into the distance, making best speed towards the fortified structure that at Kuo Kuana's heart, the most secure place in the whole region.

He had to wonder if Corsac Albain hadn't thought the same of his own sanctum...right before those so-named Atlesian monsters tore it down around him. But of course he couldn't let himself wonder for long.

Ghira could smell the smoke on the wind now that he focused, a scent different to the usual street lanterns and bonfires dotting the village proper in the swiftly dying afternoon. Striding at the head of Rodentia's men, fists clenched and jaw set, the panther Faunus stalked forth believing himself prepared to deal with any problem. Whether he could deal with it peacefully was another story.

"No, by the gods..."

Questions that fled his mind as he crested the hill separating inland from shoreline, and saw the point of their destination wreathed in smoke and flame. An entire row of thatch roofed houses ablaze, panicked screams filling the air, all while the Storm looked down from on high.

Judging the retired High Leader, the man who had garnered a generation of Faunus by his side and lost them in a manner of year, and found him wanting...

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Imperial Outpost "Primus", Vale)** **  
**

Ciane Skye, ace VNN blogger and (admittedly) amateur journalist extraordinaire, had never undergone a true real life interrogation before.

She'd heard about them sure, seen depictions of them playing on those cheesy crime dramas her grandmother had always enjoyed.

Dramatic showdowns in cramped rooms between dashing detective and gross criminal sitting across from one another. Each side seeking out the weaknesses in the other before inevitably good would catch evil in a lie and spur about their inevitable punishment.

Before she'd discovered a love of the written word and the quest for truth, Ciane had briefly imagined herself sitting in that seat. Outsmarting the bad guy with grace and guile.

All neat and tidy, overdramatic and overproduced...the reality, she'd learned fairly quickly, was quite different. Especially when it was Skye herself playing the criminal.

For one there was no fancy brightly lit interrogation box or cold steel table, instead all she apparently warranted was a musty old canvas tent that stank of mildew. It's entrance covered by a thick blanket to obscure her vision of what lay beyond and prevent sunlight peeking through. A guttering Dust bulb hanging by wire the only source of illumination in the cramped space, swaying with the motion of the marquee casting strange dancing shadows along the walls.

A few almost seeming almost to possess a life of their own, shifting and settling into strange shapes that were there one second and gone the next the moment she looked back. Her imagination playing tricks on her she decided, stress from the strangeness of the situation.

Usually she'd try and snap a photo of the problem, or write to keep her mind busy, but they'd taken her camera and seemed wholly against letting her handle anything sharper than her fake nails.

At the very least her captors had provided a pair of dented stools to sit on along with a gnarled wooden table upon which to rest her head, even if she couldn't exactly call herself comfortable. A night spent as a glorified stuffed animal for an ogre beast didn't exactly lend itself well to a good night's sleep.

The snoring alone might have done to keep her awake, if she hadn't already been surrounded by thick mounds of sweat stained cloth and moldering half eaten foodstuffs.

Speaking of her captors...these 'Imperials', a strange lot to be sure. The ones the Reporter had seen all sporting an eclectic mix of uniforms and styles, skin types and qualities that spoke of wide diversity even in this day and age.

The ones who'd dragged her from Kobi's nest a rather fine example...

One a wild looking woman sporting thick goggles over her eyes and a head close cropped dark braids oddly dressed in a bedraggled set of body armour and cutoff fatigues that looked to have been pulled from at least a half dozen sources and scored with scrawled markings in a manner that would've had an Atlesian quartermaster weeping. Impossible not to notice.

Moving opposite her near silently in stark contrast, a pale dirty blonde haired man in rather worn unassuming dark fatigues hung with bits and pieces of eclectic equipment complete with a cloak draped over one shoulder. Problem was, the Reporter was having something of a time pinning down a proper color for it, the dull tones of the fabric appearing to shift and blend the longer she looked, never constant.

A trait she pinned down to more of the visitors/invaders strange technology, too intent on the long double edged knife hanging at the gaunt soldier's waist to work up the courage to ask, all while his partner cracked crude jokes as though to lighten the mood.

Half of which Ciane could barely understand and none of it making much in the way of sense.

 _'...What even is a Grox anyway? And Orks?..."_

Neither so much as looked at her longer than the few seconds it took to make sure she was following obediently, and neither would talk to her directly beyond orders to keep up. Not that she minded much, no use milking blood from a rock after all, not when she'd had more pliant sources.

Ciane had managed to put her interviewing skills to work, wheedling as much information as she could from the Ogryn before he'd unceremoniously declared bedtime.

What she'd garnered up till then however, even after a whole night she wasn't quite sure of just how much she believed. ' _Imperial Guard'_ , a war for some faraway ' _Imperium_ ', all of it in service to the so-called ' _Emperor of Mankind'_ against the ' _bad folks_ ' whoever they were.

Meaningless words out of context, at least until he mentioned the _Cataclysm_ , namely the fact that they'd seemingly stumbled out of it in the middle of the Emerald Forest. Bit of a shock as one might understand.

If that were truly the case, did that really mean she was smack dab in the middle of a military camp full of...of aliens? Oh gods, what if the Atlesians are working with aliens to take over...?

Before she could let the full measure of alarm and possibility settle over her, the flap to the tent was swept back with a flourish. Bathing the interior in a welter of stinging sunlight if allowing a split second glimpse of the world beyond, blocked a moment later as the cloaked soldier stepped aside to admit another soul with little more than a nod and a snapped salute.

And then he was gone, leaving Ciane alone with whom she presumed to be her interrogator.

Again unlike the cop dramas, there was no snazzy looking detective in a bedraggled suit and tie with a suave cocky air about him as he made ready to pick her apart. No, no that might have been infinitely more preferable in comparison to what she got.

A beautiful young woman with piercing violet eyes that caught her gaze and held it fast with a chilling intensity. Maybe of an age with the Beacon student's she'd been talking to before that mess in the Mess Hall, dressed in a dark black greatcoat and a crimson sash wrapped tight about her waist that while bearing their own signs of wear and tear seemed to bear a regal menace all their own.

Even so, they were as nothing to the woman that bore them, that much was clear at a glance.

Her marble expression level as she pulled up the second stool and sat herself down opposite the reporter. Setting a scroll off to the side as she leaned forward on the table hands clasped before her, allowing the slightest narrowing of her eyes as she sized up the other woman with the air of a predator judging its prey.

An act of course, all designed to intimidate her prisoner into submission. But Ciane Skye was a proud member of the Free Press and the Vale News Network, a crusader for the truth willing to go to whatever (within reason) ends she needed in order to claim her story.

She wasn't about to let herself be intimidated by some alien girl in a scary getup, of course not, the idea was absurd.

This Reporter would stand strong, she would do her Kingdom and Remnant proud as a representative. No matter what threats were thrown her way... Ciane had to be brave, confident, unshakable in the face of any danger. Calm, cool as a...

"So, I take it you are this Ciane Skye woman I've been hearing o... _!_?"

The young woman paused, seemingly taken somewhat aback when the her charge practically collapsed in on herself. That internal resolve shattering to dust in an instant, shoulders shaking and bright blue eyes awash with a sudden downpour of running tears.

The sobbing so audible it drew the scraggly Guardswoman from her post, peering through a crack in the opening and exchanging a confused shrug with her companion.

" _Er_...what is it you think you're doing, exactly?"

"P- _Please_! Please...* _sniff*_ Please don't hurt me!" Skye begged through her sniffles, knuckles showing a bare white as they clutched at the table for purchase, her voice a high pitched squeak born of terror. "Please please please _please_ **_please_**! I can get rid of the pictures, I can give you...okay maybe I can't give you the camera but I can definitely get you the film. It's just I really _really_ don't do too well with pain, or torture, or scary movies or...or...just...Look I'll do what you want, tell you what you want! Just don't...!"

"Hurt you? Yes, I picked up on that general notion." Her interrogator replied, that statuesque expression breaking into something that might have been youthful surprise on anyone less reserved. Surprise and a teensy tad bit of disappointment.

As it was, she did sit a little straighter, coughing into her gloved palms before letting loose a heady sigh of disbelief.

"Five seconds, I do believe that must be something of a personal best. I've never had anyone break so...so spectacularly before I'd even finished introducing myself. Truly, this world is a host of wonders." Now that she'd said it out loud, an ashamed Ciane suddenly found it remarkably easy to keep her eyes down looking at her quivering knees, biting her lip hard to stifle more whimpering. "I am Commissar Catriona Catelin, nominally assigned to a posting within the command echelons of the 8th Cadian. Though as of recently I have been given charge of maintaining discipline among the survivors present here at the Beacon Schola. You know of me?"

"Y-Yes, yes the one who saw me here uh...Lux, yeah Lux! H-He mentioned you, said you could be scary but...!?" Catelin raised a thin withering brow, Ciane cursing her blabbering mouth even as she stumbled to recover some small amount of composure. "But...But he said you were lovely, absolutely lovely! Working for the benefit of everyone here! Yep, that's what he said, forget what I uh...y'know...said, bad joke. _Heh heh._.. _pleasedon'tfeedmetothoselizardthings_!"

"Miss Skye, I didn't come marching all the way out here personally to do you harm. Let alone entertain the Catachan" The reporter perked up at that, slowly glancing upward expecting to see the face of a benevolent angel...her mistake. "No no, that would be a waste. Trooper Brindle, Lux, tells me you are Remnant's equivalent to an imagist and documentariest, a wordsmith?"

"I'm a reporter, yes." Seeing that the term was drawing up blanks, she continued on hastily in explanation. "I...well, I suppose the best way you can describe it is that I record events and present it to the wider public. The pictures and all that, it's proof that I'm telling the truth so people believe me. At least that was the idea..."

She didn't mention she was starting to think that with everything she'd seen so far, a few flimsy photos might not be enough to do the trick.

Child giants, strangely dressed alien soldiers working with Atlas to take over Vale...or at least that was the prevailing theory. _'What if they've replaced General Ironwood, maybe the whole of Beacon, body-snatchers...!?'_

"A propagandist?

"I er...wouldn't describe it like that..." She said a little defensively, weathering the insult to her craft. "We research events and present them to the masses."

"So, a sort of Remembrancer then?"

Not knowing at all what a 'Remembrancer' was supposed to be, though happy to see the stirrings of delight play across the Commissar's expression, Ciane nodded hesitantly.

"Excellent! So you might prove to be of more use than I first envisioned. I thought you just some token columnist, what a relief." She clapped her hands together, startling the other young woman. Seemingly caring not a tad. "And it's not as though you don't benefit from such an arrangement. The chance to observe the Emperor's noble defenders up close, perhaps even aid in spreading His word properly. Sister Delphine as you might have noticed is something of a blunt instrument in that regard, effective in the field, though as they say 'Zeal is laudable, but no excuse'."

"I suppose, she did shout quite...!?"

"...and the discipline would likely do you some personal good. ' _And the bounties of the Emperor shall go to those who have worked hard in his service.'_ or so it is said." The Commissar abruptly continued, whispering more to herself than to her charge. "Yes, ah yes I can appoint an instructor to work you up to something approaching standard, wonderful..."

Ciane was still nodding despite the interruption, content in that it didn't appear the woman would be biting off her head anytime soon with any secret mandibles or...wait just a sec?

"Wha...What are you talking about? I mean what are you saying, er Ma'am, Commissar, Miss!?" She fumbled, not at all pleased with the befuddled look in the younger woman's eyes. "You mean your not going to take my camera or...or get rid of me?"

"Hmm? Why of course not." Weirdly, the alien seemed somehow shocked the other woman would even consider such a thing. "According to my Aide you merely desired to learn of us, of the Imperium, and spread that truth of your findings to your fellow man. Is that not so?"

It was, technically, though the reporter was having something of a difficulty putting her thoughts into words. So many conflicting emotions and the like, and nodding hadn't seemed to help so far. But it was all she had...

"I still don't understand...?"

"We are, as you might have guessed, new to your world and its strange ways. As we've found our own mannerisms to be considered as such by your people here at Beacon, let alone what the reaction will be when we are finally exposed to Remnant as a whole. And we _will_ be exposed, of that I have no doubt. Especially given the efforts of men and women in positions such as yours. You agree?"

Another shaking nod. "I-I suppose..."

"Indeed, and of course given your own reaction...do not deny it, we frighten you. That much is clear to me." All in all, Catelin seemed remarkably blase for someone talking about how much she scared the person in front of her. "The Grimm Xenoforms of your world are drawn by such emotion. Already my soldiers report the Atlseians engaging with far more aggressive specimens since you arrived. This cannot continue, and nor can I allow it to spread via ignorance. We are not of your world, but we can help."

Help, the aliens wanted to help...?

"In simpler terms am not opposed to discovery, I simply wish the insights of the public to be framed and delivered in context with the relevant facts. You understand?"

"I think so." Ciane said cautiously, fidgeting in her seat. "You want me to write about you in a way that doesn't scare people."

"Indeed, but don't fret. I am not asking you to compromise any integrity you might hold, I prefer you write the truth, though perhaps a tempered version at first. To educate and inform, who we are, where we come from, the services that we perform in the name of He on Terra. I can allow dispensation to observe our methods and provide suitable souls for you to interview and gain a more personal perspective, would that be agreeable."

When the 'Commissar' put it like that, the whole enterprise actually seemed...admirable. Worthwhile, maybe, just maybe, she was wrong about this Imperium? It wouldn't be the first time she's assumed and been pleasantly surprised.

"It is, I think. I'll not write blatant lies though, I won't!" Catelin seemed of all things pleased by that last bit of defiance, or amused, it was difficult to tell which. But still that nagging comment... "What's all this about 'discipline', getting me 'up to standard'?"

"Isn't that to be expected? I can't well appoint a Company Chronicler who is unable to keep up the pace if needs come to conflict, now can I?"

The Commissar didn't appear to notice the blood leaving the reporters face slowly but surely, or perhaps she did and simply didn't care.

"E-Excuse me?"

"You would learn of us, and as my mentor the late Lord Commissar Braun taught me, the best lessons are often taught in action and deed rather than through simple word. As such, I hereby invoke my rite as an acting representative of the Adeptus Ministorum and conscript you, Ciane Skye of Vale, into the vaunted ranks of the Cadian 8th Regiment, specifically the 11th Company Infantry Detachment. The Emperor recognizes your service."

 _'Wait...Wait a second!? Adeptus what now?'_

Catriona Catelin was insane, the aliens had sent an insane brood mother or something to talk crazy to her. No way this was real, no way at all...

"I uh...I'm honored to be considered and all." Ciane did her best to fake a smile, rubbing at her cheek with a broken nail and trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. The Commissar affably content to smile and look perfectly at ease, even if the smile looked to have been chiseled in marble. _"_ But I...I can't be a soldier, I'm not built for it. I wouldn't know the first thing about fighting or marching or whatever."

"Nonsense, Brindle is former Ganger scum drawn from the sump wastes of a drainage sluice. Feral in nearly all respects, more animal than man. You met him, conversed with him. Could you tell as such?"

"I...I...Ganger, what...?"

She waved off the Reporter's concerns, moving to pluck up her scroll and begin typing away with a steady hand. Not even bothering to look at the reporter now, just another duty dealt with.

"In their service to the Throne, a Trooper rarely arrives built for the Guard. Instead the Guard itself forges the Trooper for service, readying them for the glories they achieve in the Emperor's name. You will embody this first lesson, and spread it in your writings until the ignorance of Remnant is swept aside."

"And...And if I don't, hypothetically I mean?"

"Well then, I would have no choice but to name you an infiltrator, seeking to steal Militarum secrets regarding our operations without sanction. A heavy crime to bear." Her tone was light, conversational even, but with a chill of frost at its core that sent shivers down the older woman's spine. "The punishment as set forth within the Tactica Imperialis for such infraction is by and large usually relegated to summary execution either by regimental firing squad or more immediately by single bolt round to the skull depending on the situation, such as to conserve valuable resources."

"Wha... _What_!?" She gaped, throat suddenly tight and mouth remarkably dry.

"Oh yes, though seeing as we currently lack our munitions, we may be forced to improvise. Perhaps hanging, we do appear to have a surplus of rope lying about, _and_ trees..." She wrinkled her nose, sensing fear and desperation from the local woman. Fear, desperation, and resignation, all things she was trained to single out and disdain. "Of course this is all hypothetical, isn't it?"

Ciane balked for but a moment, the briefest instant before survival instincts had her nodding one final time. In retrospect she would likely should have been wondering if the Commissar had simply been overstating her authority. Well, by then it was far too late. In the moment however...

"Splendid!" Catelin nodded, seemingly pleased with herself. "Now then, off with you. Corporal Melyn and Trooper Choco will escort you to your new barracks where your effects will be returned and a proper uniform supplied. They will also be overseeing your integration into the ranks, the hair dye will need to go of course."

"But...er Ma'am, this is my natural color." A moment of tense silence followed, punctuated but for the tap of the stern younger woman's finger on the tabletop.

"Hmm, is it now? Interesting." She commented with a curt nod that expressed quite the opposite, returning to her scroll. Ciane now left not all together sure what had just happened or what she'd gotten herself into this time. Her finger curling about a lank strand of the brilliant blue protectively. "Was there anything else, Trooper? Or are we reconsidering the rope?"

Her new Superior made it sound like some kind of jest, and maybe it was. Ciane Skye, freshly minted Chronicler of the Cadian 8th was too busy scrambling for the tent flap to find out for sure.

 _'Who knows? Exclusive rights to the hottest story in living memory, maybe this won't be so bad after all?'_ She thought dimly, covering her eyes as the sun hit her face, realization finally settling in.

It might not be, but somehow she truly doubted that was to be the case.

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Anima - White Fang Command Headquarters)**

"Brother Adam, I would have it recognized the deep regard I hold for you. That the White Fang holds for you..."

Sienna Khan leaned forward in her throne, chin perched on a clenched fist. Orbs of a glimmering shade of gold in the reflected torchlight staring down at the pair kneeling at the foot of the steeped dais.

One she knew well, or so she had believed, Adam Taurus, a young bull Faunus with crimson hair garbed in black and red sporting the intricate mask of a Grimm that concealed his features and a sheathed katana lying at his side. The other a corpse pale woman of delicate features, a stranger with long curtains of hair the same shade as arterial spray and garbed in dirtied patchwork robes of darker shades...her eyes however...

The Tiger Faunus had believed her a Faunus at first, for no human she'd ever met or heard of could have eyes quite like those she bore in her sockets. The pupils having dilated to the point of swallowing the iris whole, granting the perception that the High Leader was staring into deep bottomless pits.

Still, she hid her disquiet well, letting none of it show upon her face.

"...You were one of the first to understand the difficult steps required to see the Faunus towards the respect we so dearly deserve." She carried on, raising her voice so that all within the hall could hear her words, doing so with the effortless ease of a woman well used to command. "An example to our brothers and sisters, and an extraordinary resource to this Organization."

Such praise, laid on rather thick by her reckoning, a trifle overdone perhaps. Though Adam seemed to take the compliments in stride, sitting just that little bit straighter as though making to stand, just as she'd intended. "High Leader, I...I'm truly honored by your praise...!?"

"Which is why I find it difficult to reconcile why such a loyal capable Soul..." Sienna cut the boy off sharply, her voice level yet edged with an underlying tension that all throughout the room sensed. Her guards clutching their halberds tightly in their grasps, Adam's hand drifting almost imperceptibly to his _Wilt & Blush,_ "...would see fit to commit so foolish an act as to bring a _Human_ here as some sort of guest, before _my_ throne." It must have been a reflex, grasping fingers curling into a tight fist upon his thigh. "Before _me_. Citing urgent concerns that require my personal attentions, abandoning your posting in Vale. For your sake, for wasting my time, I best like what I hear."

She leaned back, imperious, a pride leader surveying what was hers though she hardly enjoyed it. Sienna had always born high hopes for Taurus, his willingness to act, his service to the White Fang's new ideal...but his flaws...

"Of course, High Leader, if you would simply permit me...!?"

" _Not_ from you." A wave of said High Leader's hand choked off the crimson swordsman's excuses as succinctly as a blade across the throat. Sienna's focus not on him, but on the little harlot poised at his back, her disquiet at the strange empty black nature of the other female's eyes lost amidst the prideful fury she had allowed to become her calling card. "I would hear first from this human personally, seeing as she is seemingly important enough for you to risk so much in showing her and her...' _compatriots_ ' to this place." As if she could consider those abominable things the woman had brought with them to be anything more than monsters, _human_ monsters at that apparently, the tiger Faunus heartbeats away from having them shot on principle alone. "Well? Speak up then, Girl! You can, can't you?"

...It appeared 'cat had her tongue', as humans were so fond of saying...

"I can indeed, my Lady Khan." The stranger lowered her head deferentially, sparing the Faunus those unblinking eyes for which she was silently more than grate...? Was that a smile on the human's face? "I am known to the Powers that be as Claret, servant of the Exiled One and the Voice of Her word upon this world." Oh, a prophet...this was worse than she might have imagined. "Let me begin simply by stating what an marvel it is to be allowed...!?"

"Spare me the inane groveling, Human, I've heard it before." Sienna spat the stranger's species as a curse, all the better to hide her own discomfort at the proselytizing taking place in her court, in her own throne room no less. The human's self-proclaimed titles smelling keenly of zealotry and faith, not all together terrible things on their own, but when combined in such fashion... "You know of me, yes?"

"Indeed I do." Claret nodded swiftly, brushing lank locks of hair from her face while looking about the impressive space approvingly. The high ceiling, the grand pillars...everything crafted to evoke a savage grandeur. A brutal place for an oft brutal cause, but one of refinement as well. "The name 'Sienna Khan' is one whispered in circles both the small and the powerful. Dear Adam here has told me much of his glorious Leader, the woman poised to bring about a resurgence of her people's pride."

"Not so much from 'dear' Adam, I hope?" The tiger allowed a fanged snarl to show, the Bull Faunus tensing noticeably as he should. "From what I'm given to understand from the garbled nonsense Adam sent me upon your arrival, you claim to be from a place and time beyond the Storm?" Madness, simply madness. "And that you have some knowledge of what exactly it is blighting Remnant's skies?"

She had sent several teams herself to survey the closest anomalies in an attempt to understand, like the rest of Remnant and its scrambling powers that be, just what in the gods' names was going on? Few had returned, and those that had described being set upon by Grimm more terrible than any she'd ever imagined possible.

She'd tried to reassign or help those poor souls, and succeeded with very few. Some stood even now by her side in the far corners, alongside her advisers and confidants. They'd deserved the honor, after what she'd asked them to endure.

"I and those who follow me do hail from beyond the _Cataclysm,_ yes my Lady." The girl nodded again, seemingly intrigued by something Sienna had said...but what? Why was she looking around the space, or seeming to, given it was impossible to track those blank wells of black. "It was a journey not without cost, but the sacrifice has been well worth it."

Claret paused, her attentions fixing on those along the halls. On those from the expeditions and...and poor Fennec, hunched over the ruins of his arm trying his best to avoid the notice of others. His position as tenuous as his temper these days, the loss of the forces and operating center stationed at Akai-Hana weighing heavily on both.

"And these followers of yours?" Khan continued as though uncaring of the distraction, happy to see the girl's priorities reasserting themselves with her words. "These are the ones now dispatched aboard so many airships, airships valuable to the White Fang's interests in Vale mind you, to such seemingly random headings?" The Prophet's face remained passive and unassuming as ever, though the same could not be said of her companion. "Don't look so shocked, Adam. I gave you Vale's Brotherhood, but they answer to me above all, and I expected better."

Her words were harsh, just as she meant them to be. The boy had defied her after all, after abusing the trust she'd placed in him.

"Resources and manpower needed to carry out our plans wasted, and for what? So you could send them instead towards differing fronts of this...' _Cataclysm'_? Towards Vacuo, Atlas...against my express orders on the matter?"

"High Leader Khan, I can assure nothing could be further from the truth!" Adam lowered his masked gaze in deference, but even so she could make out the tension in every word. His lack of contrition... "Everything I do, I do...!?"

"At my bequest." Claret was admirably, perhaps foolishly, quick to step forward. "And as for your concerns over the Storm, our Lady's _Cataclysm_ , and I can assure you of this much. You and your men will have nothing to fear. "

"Well, I'm so relieved I have nothing to fear, it seems." Laughter rippled through the court at the jest, though little of it touched Sienna's humors, her mind racing as though fleeing a Grimm. How could the human know her thoughts? How...? "So...your 'Lady's _Cataclysm'._ Is it?" The girl hesitated for but a moment, but long enough to know that her calm demeanor was far from inviolate. "I've seen the effects of this phenomenon, some of the people in this very room have." She motioned to the poor wretches spread throughout the space, escorted by guards carrying concealed weapons, their eyes downcast and widening at shadows, their mouths always whispering... "But you knew this, didn't you?"

"I...I suspected as such...?"

"No, you knew." The Tiger Faunus said over such excuses, no longer asking. "By Semblance or something else I don't know for certain, but you knew. You _know._ And your hiding something, still." She shook her head, her mammalian ears lying flat against her scalp now, no longer certain of her own thoughts. So she did as she always had, she acted on instinct. "You would have me believe you are from beyond the Storm, beyond this reality if I have it right from _my_ people?" Adam stiffened at the reminder of the treachery in his circle.

 _'...Good, if he survives this meeting he'll have at least learned something...'_

"We are, as you would say, 'newcomers' to this strange world you call home." The human said after a moment to compose her thoughts, proving she at least had the self control to speak appropriately. Her voice carefully adjusted so as to address all within the hall without appearing as though she were shouting. "Travelers of a Creed bereft of purpose upon reaching destination. Gifted into the hands of dear...of Adam Taurus and his Brotherhood by our benefactor. A... _mutual acquaintance_ , of sorts."

A 'mutual acquaintance' then, by the absent gods...!

"The Black Queen, then?" It was the only explanation, the only source that she knew of. And from the Bull Faunus' once more blatant discomfort, Sienna knew she'd hit the nail on the head, or perhaps more appropriately cornered the rat... "Curious, I do believe I told Adam to dismiss all contact with that foul woman after her blunder cost the lives of several Faunus, _ordered_ it in fact."

So many young hopefuls lost, all in such a spectacular failure. The repercussions of which still being felt long after the smoke had cleared. Atlas on the warpath, the Kingdom's defenses heightened, years of effort lost in the course of a single bloody day...

"And yet she's involved, how unfortunate. At least that answers the lingering question of what to do with you." She brought up a hand, every guard in the space bringing their halberds down near simultaneously, poised on the pair now standing in alarm. Or at least Adam was, the young woman's dark voids flitting about the room dispassionately as though having expected this all along.

Intelligent, were she born Faunus who knows what might have come of her...

"High Leader, please...!?" Adam made to snatch up his _Wilt & Blush _once more, though curiously he froze in the act. Looking to his companion of all things and slowly, inexorably, nodding to himself. Nodding to her?

The very notion irritated Sienna to no end, to see such a warrior of the Faunus bowing to the enemy. It colored her temper, setting her growl building in her chest...

 _"Grr..._ Take the human, and then see to her fellows in the far flung reaches!" Her orders were met with the thud of boot steps, a dozen Faunus moving in unison to thoroughly surround the newly minted prisoners. A flicker of regret passing over her thoughts as she remembered a young confused boy standing with a bloodied blade, the feeling then crushed beneath necessity. "Perhaps we may be able to salvage something of this debacle."

With any luck she would be able to pull Adam's wayward forces back into line, reestablish the sundered brotherhood in Vale...

 ** _-(-"...And yet I can offer so much MORE than that..."-)-_**

Sienna shuddered, a hand clutching for her skull in mirror of every other soul in the room except for Adam, his charge, and curiously enough those few who had returned from scouting the weather phenomena. A voice playing host inside her skull wholly separate of thoughts or intent, a crooning whisper that felt as though a spike had embedded itself in her fore-brain.

And she was among those least affected. Those closest to the pair actively falling to their knees a moment later with weapons forgotten, another pulse tearing through their mental landscape, some even losing consciousness.

 ** _-(-"Power only dreamt of...Victory beyond you grasp...Yours for the taking, Faunus, if you merely wish of it..."-)-_**

"Wha...What is...!?" Sienna groaned through gritted teeth, subconsciously reaching for the chain whip she'd not worn since taking her place as High Leader. A foolishly naive oversight, she realized looking at the unaffected pair and noting the foul human's voided gaze focused upon her with the ghost flicker of a smirk. "Y-You? What have _you...nnngh!?"_ More pain came of the attentions, her vision blurring as her head swam in a sea of heat, fire burning through her heart...it couldn't be any worse...it couldn't possibly...?

...and then came the flurry of foreign images forced into her awareness...

Flashes of memory and insight both, depictions of grandiose worlds and vibrant scenes she never could have imagined, nor in many cases ever wish too.

Portraits of conflict fought in a manner well beyond her meager comprehension of the word, on a scale she couldn't hope understand. Entire worlds burning as space-born fortresses rained the wrath of stars down upon their surfaces, incinerating millions in moments only for untold billions to drown in the ashes left in their wake.

And such was only a prelude, in some ways a bittersweet mercy. More worlds beyond that yoked to the oppression of distant masters who would never breath their toxic effluence, born only to spend their lives in endless the stasis of unfeeling toil and cruel grinding bureaucracy. Dedicated only in uplifting a decaying cycle, many never even seeing the skies under which they lived...like insects in a hive in service to a corpse sat upon a Golden Throne.

Hopeless order...a life without...life...

On others, vast armies took to ravaged vistas against hordes of gibbering horrors from beyond reality set in their image. At the heads of both hosts standing inhuman giants of such martial splendor as Sienna had never dreamed, embraced in suits of baroque armor that rendered them war machines in the shapes of men. Indomitable, unyielding, and they tore themselves to pieces for her viewing horror and the divinities to whom they paid fealty...

Half baked concepts such as 'context' settled in place, pressed into her consciousness like a builder might set stones...if said builder was a madman, angry and imprecise with the task, cracking his tools in a rabid fury. Words like _'Astartes'...'Imperium'...'Daemon'...'The Immaterium'...'Emperor'..._ all of it at once, too much, far too much for one mind to accept so readily. Some flickers forgotten in moments...truths lost or muddled, others carved into the cores of her memory, to dwell and rise when she'd least expect it.

 ** _-(-"Accept...Settle...Behold..."-)-_**

Whispers joined the nightmares at the edges of thought as well, insidious voices she barely registered let alone understood. Imploring her to kneel to powers she didn't recognize. To submit, to bow...and like that whatever hold they had on her was broken almost entirely, though the effort to overcome was costly.

Her bruised and battered mind reeling under the strain, vice-like tendrils clamping down only to be forgotten heartbeats later...but not unfelt. She would remember the aftermath, if not the attempt...

Still whether she recognized the subversion or not, she was Sienna Khan, and she bowed to _no one!_

A vibrant Aura flickered to blazing life in golden eyes, pulsing across her goose-pimpled skin to a degree as such to be visibly casting off a smothering shroud. The power of her very soul driving back the undoubted psychic oppression - though she herself could hold only the barest concept of such things - like a desperate animal shrugging against its chains and shattering them wholesale.

Claret, crying out with blood spilling from both nostrils, faltering a step backwards at the sight of the Faunus stood against her. The only one in the hall to do so, most others whimpering or convulsing with the images seen, or in the case of those returned from the storm squirming in rapture.

Or mayhaps it was the long bladed spear the High Leader had torn from her throne's back on reflex and hurled like a javelin towards her. Adam's _'Wilt'_ racing from its sheathe, deflecting the weapon away in a blindingly fast sweep of blood-tinged light before it could potentially do the human any harm before vanishing into _Blush_ the next instant.

 _Potentially_... the weapon hadn't been intended to kill after all, not truly. Simply cast in warning instruction, Sienna leaning back with her shoulders heaving and brow coated liberally in sweat, glowering at the chiropteran-eyed human with a new appreciation. And new caution.

"Human." Sienna said with surprising calm after a dreadfully long pause, stood upon the dais as her fellows worked themselves into varying states of composure.

Men and women she had served with since the beginning sobbing in the wake of truths she could hardly seem to recall, her Aura having interrupted whatever process had been employed. Others merely staring off into space in overwhelmed awe, more still looking to one another as though disbelieving what they were seeing now was actually real.

"What was that supposed to be, Wych?" The unfamiliar term grated on her tongue, sounding strange to her ears. It felt right however, proper, and it seemed to temper the young woman's shock somewhat. Her lips pursing into a weary smile, painted by the still leaking viscera. "Choose your words carefully, _an_ y _rosia se naur tay helshival..._!?" This time she clapped a hand to her mouth, in her shock not even bothering to hide her surprise. "That was...!?"

"Nostroman, how... _mmph..._ how remarkably unexpected." Claret gasped between shaking breaths, wiping at the mess of her face with the back of a broad sleeve, heedless of staining the tattered cloth even further. Her pallor seeming even more pale than before in the torchlight, if that were even possible, veins standing out an oily black in contrast. "I was worried the psycho-empathic link mght had frayed, your Soul is...mighty, indeed. More resistant than I'd...?"

"Answer me! What was that?" Sienna interrupted sharply,

"A demonstration. You...High Leader Khan, you needed to see, and I felt it more expedient to show rather than attempt to explain." She put a hand on Adam's shoulder, leaning her weight on him in some sickening display. The swordsman actually accept the gesture, if stiffly, where the High Leader had known a time he would have probably taken that hand. "Such efforts can be taxing however, for all involved. And not without some effect, it appears." She was looking at the Tiger Faunus curiously, many eyes were.

"How do I know it's not some trick, some...Semblance?" She ignored them, standing above them all. "Considering I believe any of this tripe, from a human...!?"

"I swear an oath upon the presence of the Exiled, my Lady." Claret intoned solemnly with a low curtsy that looked rather out of place when grouped with the blood painting her front. "No deception shall passes my lips willingly, not here. This I promise in the name of Mal...?" The hall's torches flickered ominously, a chill wind blowing...

Sienna put a stop to it, though she knew not how or for what reason. She simply knew instinctively that she had to speak up before that name was spoken aloud.

"Interrupt me again, Girl, or attempt to utilize this...Semblance of yours, and know there will not be a third time." Sienna once more let herself slump back into her thrown, more out of necessity than she would have liked. Suddenly tired, her skull throbbing horribly...still, appearances had to be maintained. "Now then, _if_ I believe you. This drivel about being from another world, this horrid Imperium..."

She hesitated for the briefest instant, weighing her words carefully against the feelings brewing throughout the hall. Memories of that oppressive regime and its hatreds of everything different or unique fresh in her mind, drawing parallels to Atlas, to the chains of prejudice born by her own people. A world without hope, a world Sienna knew with certainty that this woman stood against...another deal with a devil, much like the last Adam had drawn before her.

She had pledged vague promises too, but this human...

What...?" She chose her words carefully, knowing without a doubt that something would change with their utterance, yet curiosity driving her onward. "What is it you can offer the White Fang?"

"High Leader?" One of the lieutenants spoke aloud, Ilia Amitola, one of the other survivors from the Akai-Hana brotherhood, snapped free of her torpor long enough to question. To do her duty, her voice wavering when she realized she stood alone. "Is this...Is this wise...?"

Was it? Was it really? She couldn't be certain, not from the impression she got of these visitors.

"Answer me, _Human_!" Khan demanded once again overriding all argument, this time using the words she'd intended. ' _Wych'_ might sound appropriate, but it was hardly hers. "You claimed you could offer us something more, did you not?"

"I did indeed." She nodded, once more lowering her eyes in a display of subservience Sienna would never believe. "Your forces are spread thin, yes. These 'Kingdoms' you call your enemies, Atlas, Vale, Vacuo, Mistral, they are formidable...by the standards of this world, at any rate." She chuckled, a sound tinny like breaking glass panes. It hurt the Tigress' ears, and that was before she noted the sarcasm laden in her tone. "More worrisome is the fact those that aid them. Others from beyond the _Cataclysm_. Soldiers of the tyrannical Imperium who would see Remnant follow suit. And more besides..." She swept an arm wide, motioning towards the crowd, toward one soul in particular. "You've seen them haven't you, Fennec Albain? The finest warriors of the False Emperor who would enslave Mankind and proclaim himself a false idol. Those that doomed your fortress, who murdered your dear brother."

"You...You know of that monster!?" Fennec shoved his way to the fore, none willing to stand in his way but Ilia who relented upon meeting his maddened glare. "That _thing_ that murdered Corsac, it's one of them! One of the...!"

"Legiones Astartes...no, I don't suppose that name would apply any longer to servants of the Corpse god. Yes, the so-named Space Marines, indeed I know them very well." A shadow passed over her features, anger, hatred, regret...and then it was gone. But not unobserved, Adam too noting the change, palm draped on the hilt of his sword. Ready to draw once again just as quickly as before, the little... "Know, Ambassador, that you could not have hoped to save your brother from what it was you both stood against. A creature designed solely for the prosecution of war and violence, capable of bringing entire worlds to heel. I have seen such, many _many_ times."

She looked back to Sienna, her expression strangely curious.

"You ask what I can offer you, Sienna Khan, but I am merely a vessel. An envoy of powers far greater set upon this path. You ask for proof? Look to the skies, towards the very thing that has your enemies in turmoil. Do not fear it's provenance, for it is not but an expression of freedom. The defiance of the Imperials and the death of their oppression." The reverence in her tone was startling, the fervor of belief. True belief, and it was an unsettling thing to witness. "And it can offer you victory if allowed. Mighty weapons defying possibility, and the warriors fit to wield them in the cause of breaking the Kingdoms you so despise."

"Is that so? And what would I have to offer in return for such ' _divine_ ' assistance, _hmm_?" How curious, she actually seemed to believe this. But given her display before... "Forgive me, Prophet, but your gods seem rather generous. What price would they ask of the White Fang to pay in return?"

"The same thing asked from all divine influences, Sienna Khan of the White Fang." The young woman smiled broadly, wider than her smirks and snickers, "Nothing more than you have, and nothing more than you can give. No more, no less?"

"How delightful? And exactly what...?"

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Menagerie - Kuo Kuana - Residential District)**

"...is the meaning of this?" Ghira murmured, his voice lost to the crackling roar of the flames. Eyes stinging as they beheld a wall of smoke and violent ongoing devastation.

The last remnants marking all that remained of a wide stretch of homes along the coastal residential district.

Spreading swiftly on the ocean's breeze, the cinders greedily consuming thatch roofs and billowing palms in its eagerness, birthing more fires n their own right. A dark malaise of air born ash spreading just as quickly, coughs and splutters sharing their own place amidst the chaos as brave Faunus risked the inferno, attempting to drag others clear of the madness. Of the tragedy unfolding.

Ghira desperately wished to join in the effort, refusing to stand by and do nothing though Rodentia and his fellows bore him back. Resorting at the last to physical force to keep him from rushing to the aid of his people, bearing his curses and condemnations.

They only cared for his safety, he knew. Many volunteers had strode into the infernal storm of embers in search of friends, family, or neighbors, and not all had yet emerged. Responsibility dictated he couldn't risk himself in such an effort, that his life was paramount...and rarely had he ever hated that fact more than now.

"You there! Round up as many able hands and tools as you can, we need to fell the trees closest to arrest the blaze before it spreads beyond!" He motioned to one of the surrounding guards not assigned to his detail, the ones that would still respond to a cool voice of authority. "And you, organize a bucket line, we can still save some of these latter structures if we hurry. While you're at it we need cloths for masks, bandages and salves for the...!?" He doubled over as a wracking cough brought him low, waving away the overprotective Guard Captain.

"What _*cough*_...What happened here! By the gods, someone give me an explanation _for...this!?"_

How could this have happened? An accident, such things weren't unheard of course, but for it to have spread so virulently spoke of...!?

"It was deliberate, Chief Belladonna, sir!" Saber pulled him aside, his face pained but hard set. A man who knew he was delivering poor news to his lead. "There's a culprit, a boy. One of the residents captured in the act, but not before..." He looked back at the flames, flinching at the screams echoing from within. "The stories they're telling, Sir, no one seems clear on exactly how he did it."

"Then how can they tell that he's the one responsible?" Ghira turned on the man, making full use of his size without meaning too. "Is there any proof? I need facts, an explanation! We don't act on hearsay...!?"

"It's...Sir, we're certain. He's confessed to it, openly in fact." His Guard Captain responded, and for the first time in a friendship that had lasted several years through the earliest days of the White Fang and more, he saw a flicker of real hesitation in the veteran's eyes. Real fear, uncertainty, a lack of comprehension. "You...You'll understand when you...!?"

 _"SHE IS RISING, SHE IS HERE...!"_ The pair of them flinched as a shrill keening cry forced itself from seared lungs, a broad shouldered youth working to make himself heard despite the valiant efforts of two of Rodentia's finest to restrain him. Tanned skin covered in red sores and livid burn marks flexed under the strain of hardened muscle, short dark hair from which sprouted a pair of sheep's horns... "... _SHE WATCHES US NOW! WE MUST ANSWER HER CALL, BROTHERS AND SISTERS! WE MUST...WE MUST... **RRRGGG-AGH**!"_

With a snarl that sounded more feral beast than man, he wrenched an arm free from one of his captor's grasp, the impetus throwing the poor soul several meters. Yet that hadn't been Aura...Aura didn't come with the snap of bone or the keening wail from it's wielder as he clutched at a a mangled limb torn from its socket. But not a wail of pain, not really...

" _We...WE ALL EXIST IN HER SIGHT! THIS ORDER...THIS ORDER OFFENDS...!"_ Blood spilled from his lips from a mangled throat as the boy was tackled by two more alongside his original assailant, the trio bearing him to the dirt. _"YOU ALL...ALL OF YOU, DO NOT FEAR THE FLAMES! DO NOT FEAR THE WHISPERS...!"_

No, this couldn't be. Ghira knew this boy, or his family at the very least. One of those who had seen a loved one seduced by Sienna's dream of Faunus domination just as Blake had been. His name, what was his...?

"Mata?" The Chief moved forward cautiously despite Rodentia's urging, biting back his gorge at the mess his fellow Faunus had made of himself upon closer inspection.

Jagged wounds, many still bleeding freely, criss-crossed just about ever inch of exposed skin. Strange nonsensical symbols that made his eyes ache to behold, his stomach reeling at the assumption that many appeared to be self inflicted, his nails bloodied and still clogged with gore. It was a miracle he could still move, let alone find the strength to squirm and kick upon the ash strewn ground.

"Mata, your Mother...your family...what have you...?" He felt his gaze rise to take in the scope of destruction, picking out one specific home at the heart of the inferno. The fires there burning more virulently than any other, the hut utterly consumed in a conflagration of cackling embers. "What have you done here, my boy?"

"C-Chief Belladona?" The croaking wet sound of his name drew his attention back to the Sheep Faunus, barely more than a whisper yet laden with emotions Ghira had no wish to describe. "They...They just wouldn't listen, no one would...I thought if I could make... _nngh_...make them see...!?" Mata hissed through cracked lips, his peach colored eyes glazed as something...wait, was something moving beneath his skin? "...Eleven times I tried to warn them of her coming, eleven times they tried, but...but they didn't hear the call. But they hear it now! You all do now...in the cinders...in the Tempest...sense is made, sense of the one discarded, the one bereft...!?"

"What!? What are you talking about!?" The Chieftain recoiled from the youth, observing the black smoking veins bulging obscenely across his marred face with morbid fascination. "What sense is there in this, Mata!? The Tempest, the Storm, do you mean to say that Storm told you to do this? What whispers? Answer me!?" Anger boiled in his breast, hot and heady as the flames. A feeling Ghira fought to master as he had for so long, knowing that it would do little in a time like this. "What...What happened to you?"

Mata for his part coughed weakly, blood flecked with ashes spilled from his mouth, steaming in the dirt before him. "She sees you, Belladonna. So fortunate, the Goddess knows the worth of your soul. Won't you... _ah..._ won't you answer **_heeeeeer_**...!?"

The last utterance drooled forth as a smoking hiss, his eyes pinpricks swallowed in a crackle of sudden malefic potency...eyes that didn't belong to Mata any longer. Bloodied crimson flooding into the whites, consuming the pupils which burned like the embers surrounding them all...like a Grimm but worse. Every Faunus in the area reeled simultaneously, some clutching for their ears, others dropping with bleeding orifices.

Ghira staggered, the scent of ozone and charred meat filling his senses as fire all but seemed to tear itself free from the boy's wounds as though contained within all along. The poor unfortunate souls holding the boy not even having the time to cry out before their bodies were utterly consumed in crackling heat. Armor and flesh seared black at its touch, crumbling across a shuddering frame that was stretching and pulling at its seams like a tight fitting costume.

The heat of it sweltering, beyond that of a desert or even the surrounding disaster. A heat to burn the soul, to consume it utterly and see it cast as ashes upon the winds of creation.

Worse the livid intelligence driving it, a being both as young as a guttering spark yet more ancient than the sun. A thing born of cruelty and anarchy, the sensation of a man burning, the terror of a city in flames, something that only hated...and it was looking right at him. How Ghira knew all this he knew not, only knowing he wished to know nothing more.

 _ **"...NonE CAn sAve yoU..."**_ Mata, or the thing that had once been Mata, seethed from a jaw wrenched loose by the rigors of change, his horns creaking as they twisted and curled. The carved sigils glowing softly in the dimming light, pulsing in time with a foreign heartbeat as something pulled at the confines of flesh that bound it still, seeking to be born... _**"...YoUr HeRoEs cannOT saVe YOu...YoUr ConVicTionS caNNot SaVe yOu...EMBraCe SHE Who coMES...THe OutcasT...THe Lost...sHe WHo wiLL sEe tHis RemNant BURN...!?"**_

It was so close to it's goal, so close to stepping through the cage of reality and taking proper form and marking itself as one of the first. A charred hand reaching out for the Lord of Faunus as its borrowed body lunged forth on unsteady flaking limbs...!?

" _FIRE!"_

Rodentia's voice heralded a staccato crack of weapons fire, Dust tipped rounds tearing true into the creature. Most anyway, some bursting from the sheer heat the burning man-thing released in short-lived bursts of starlight across Ghira's vision, yet more than enough made it through and tore chunks of ashen meat from the once Faunus that howled its mournful rage for all to hear, Belladonna able to feel hot liquid trickling from burst eardrums.

But it still fell, twisting and writhing as blood that burned the sand to glassy shards at its feet flowed free. The sounds it made as it died searing themselves into the minds of all present like a physical scar, even over the renewed and now thoroughly undisciplined salvos of those who only desperately desired for the wretched thing to lay down and die.

In the face of such emotion it could do little else but falter, a final resounding shriek all too similar to Mata's own voice carrying on as it finally relented and lay still. Rodentia's men ceasing their onslaught reluctantly at their Captain's command.

And then...then there was naught but silence. The hateful fires extinguished with the creatures death leaving naught but a pall of ashes and stunned Faunus lurching about in their wake unable to believe what they had just witnessed.

Some of them weeping, others gaping, all bearing with them a sight that would haunt their dreams until their dying day...and some longer even than that. None spoke, not then, for to do so would be either to demand understanding for which their could be none, or to offer words that would only have been lies.

A few seconds more, a few heartbeats, and nothing they might have done would have been able to stop it. This Ghira also knew without any inkling as to why, kneeling in the charred sands, staring at the smoking crater that marked the creature's...the _Daemon's_ violent passing. He could speak, he had to take control of the situation, he had to offer his people something in the wake of... _this,_ whatever it was.

"What do we do?"

Instead he took those first moments to look up at the roiling bruised sky and the horrific potential it concealed, and asked a question he desperately desired an answer too. Begging in fact to whatever deity might be listening...well, not every deity he hoped.

"What...What _can_ we do?"

* * *

\- **End**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all, been awhile I know. Life and all, plus this one was a bit of a hassle to write, always something getting in the way (Work, other projects including another crossover etc). Plus as many of you have noted this story has gotten pretty hefty, a lot going on, though I hope its remained an enjoyable read.**

 **So the Imperials now have an official Chronicler with them much to her own dismay, the White Fang is cutting deals much to Sienna's own hesitation, and Menagerie is in pretty dire straits as some might have noticed. Wrote Mata (a character appearing at the end of Vol.5, the sheep guy with the mom) as something of a latent psyker which do exist on Remnant it seems, at least going by the thing that tried to step through using him as a doormat.**

 **Hope I can still write a Chaos Daemon well enough, would love to hear people's thoughts as always. - Mojo**


	17. Chapter 17

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 17 - On Display -**

* * *

 **"The warrior guided by the spirit serves humanity, the warrior without, serves the ego"**  
― Soke Behzad Ahmadi,

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Gymnasium)**

 _'Hmph, it doth appear the chaff are staring again...'_ Vivian Stahl mused with a barely perceptible quirk of the lip, perceiving the shift in attentions with a regal ease born of expectation and a lifetime spent in the courts of predatory nobility where status was everything and a lack of awareness could prove fatal.

Dozens of eyes throughout the vast conditioning chamber all drawn inexorably towards the seated Knight utilizing these simplistic implements of physical promotion, all crude steel and simple fulcrum and pendulum based equipment...simplistic really.

No doubt alighting on statuesque flesh of a lustrous copper artfully bared in a style that in any court might have been seen as scandalous yet here seemed quite the norm, placed upon display, gleaming with light sweet smelling perspiration. Or perhaps focused hair of spun gold pinned back to avoid straying before emerald eyes that both offered and yet stood beyond in equal measure.

In the hours since she'd first stepped foot into the space Vivian had earned herself quite an audience if she did say so herself, initially drawn by the irresistible curiosity of one of the strange Imperial visitors so blatantly piercing into the heart of what they'd subconsciously marked as their territory.

Many of the males and more than a few females scattered throughout the gymnasium unable to help themselves in their gawking, in their furtive glances and lecherous desires they believed so expertly concealed. Flushed faces, increased perspiration, a distinct intake of breath as blood rushed throughout the body and instinctive need took hold...such an open expressive society Remnant must maintain, or at least this 'Vale'.

 _'No, more than that though it plays its part...'_ She mused, arching her back and rewarding a particularly well built specimen doing his best to impress her with a coquettish flicker of lingering notice that left him babbling incoherently. His comrades muttering darkly under their breath as his clumsiness almost cost one of them a toe from a falling weight, though moreover because he'd succeeded in his efforts where they had failed.

Adolescents...so utterly simple to parse through and discern. Obvious too were the prudish and the meek among their number, those gazing at such an open display with contempt and deep set envy of what they knew they did not possess...

Throne, so long since Stahl had spent any true length of time in the presence of true peers her own age that she'd almost forgotten how to allow herself to relax and witness the entertainment in it. Far more used to the dissembling echelons that made up Imperial nobility.

That grand game of step and counterstep with Imperial Guard Command Staff, Naval attaches, Planetary elites, her fellow Scions. All of them jockeying for positions of glory and prestige along the ever shifting borders of the Imperium's wars, a realm she'd navigated since first she could doddle in step with her loyal Trager -now lost to her so cruelly- dogging her plodding artificed heels.

All of whom knowing the rules, playing out their defined roles as their ancestors had done stretching back generations. Enemy and ally, all in service to Emperor and Imperium.

 _'Though I suppose Atra may have counted as such an adolescent, his advances so utterly tiresome...'_

Of course the young man had been boorish in the extreme well before his loss on Cadia, but even he had comported himself with more dignity than this slavering rabble. The undisguised stink of musk and hormones filling the air with every breath almost overpowering in its intensity.

Not that the Questor Imperialis minded their attentions overmuch or did much to disabuse them, rolling sculpted shoulder muscles through another grueling repetition and sighing fitfully at the stacatto _*POP*_ of joints rendered stiff from her exertions.

Fully cognizant of students' gazes as she did so, both the jealous and the admiring, delighting in them as was only proper.

And why should they not enjoy it, and she in turn? Hers was a body forged by a dynasty, after all.

It was meant to be admired, coveted, sought after. The latest in a culmination of several millennia worth of carefully refined breeding both within and without the noble Stahl household.

Genetic purity honed over several generations to weed out those lesser undesirable or otherwise useless traits, the perfection of her ancestral line interspersed with those of truly exceptional individuals by which to maintain adaptive stability and prevent the stagnant degradation of exclusive inbreeding faced by Planetary Governorship across the breadth of the Imperium.

Variation as a means to offer strength, though always with purpose to find the correct mix of material and function. There could only be so much of one good thing before the taste soured...

Her Grandfather had understood that simple yet defining fact, and so had his children -born of differing worthy concubines-...and through their own union had produced a superior heir. A child with looks to inspire and dominate and excel in the political arena, keen reflexes and muscular development to place her further above lesser humanity, perfect eyesight and a refined palette to experience the galaxy, an eidetic mind and a pliable yet resilient nervous system to bear the weapon needed to conquer it...

A perfect canvas, further bolstered by the painted strokes of subtle genetic science and mechanical augmentation both in the womb and over a lifetime. Enhanced sensory acuity to perceive the often staggering amount of data processed by the mounts upon which they strode into the fires of war, muscles hardened and strengthened to endure the brutal physical and physiological requirements of utilizing the demi-God Machine to its greatest potential.

...Indeed, why shouldn't she enjoy herself as appropriate?

Though admittedly there was this knot of tension in her chest she couldn't quite work out no matter how hard she pushed her body. A feeling perhaps exacerbated by the indignities she could almost feel through her bond with the Verdant Dawn, foreign fingers crawling over her adamantium carapace, rooting down into the sacred precious depths none but those worthy should ever see.. **.tHe ShAMe...ThE inDigNiTy...**

Vivian fought to suppress the unsightly snarl of _Verdant Dawn's_ bestial echos before it could properly manifest, yet couldn't help the overwhelming urge to stand above such minuscule ants. _**She was a thing of war, eager to crush them under heel, to show she was not yet beaten, not yet willing to submit or endure such...!?**_

"Heh heh, sup Beautiful? Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

A broad shadow fell across her, blocking out the humming illumination and stealing her from her thoughts with an abruptness keenly inappropriate yet not all together unwelcome.

It's owner having spoken in a tone he evidently believed complimentary, a well proportioned and heavily muscled youth with short cropped hair of a peculiarly interesting shade of orange that the young Stahl had rarely seen before...intriguing, first test passed. Still her discerning eye plucked apart his features with practiced care, finding the faults beneath.

Patrician features not entirely unattractive to look at, though much of it relied upon physical attributes accentuated by a slightly too tight tank top and shorts...though seeing as she wore somewhat even less with far greater impunity, perhaps she could not judge him too harshly.

Oh what was she saying, of course she could...more than that she _should._ That was her right.

By her estimation he amounted to a paramour, something warm the bed and provide some short lived entertainment with the proper instruction to curb his obviously rash temperament, perhaps? But little more than such.

"Not from around here, right? Bet you're curious aren't you? A transfer or something?" The young Huntsman declared with that all too familiar bearing of one that believed themselves above their fellow man, and yet stood unaware of how far they overreached... "Names Cardin, Cardin Winchester, and how about you let a real man show you around? Whaddya say?" He leaned in closer allowing the sweat reek to hit her nostrils all the more readily, giving her a roguish grin that all but screamed his intentions.

 _'Hmph, mores the pity...'_ Had this Winchester been more assertive, he might have almost completed the illusion of a young foolish Scion in need of and perhaps worth breaking.

With such an illusion she may have been half tempted to have given him a few middling hours to burn off her stress. Though given his attitude, it appeared he'd have proven as much a fop as Atra had been in his clumsy bumbling attempts to please her aboard House Krast's Flagship Arc-Cruiser prior to the embarkation to Cadia's surface.

Emperor's bowels had than been simply pathetic diversion, and now she had to sit reliving those painfully dull hours in those gaudy apartments with this meager shadow getting more and more anxious and impatient by the second. Expecting her to have fallen swooning upon him she suspected idly, how he could even...hmm, wait a moment?

A smile played across her lips as she realized precisely how she could salvage the afternoon, loosing her grip upon one of the bars of this crude apparatus. Uncaring of the way the metal frame had buckled under her grasp. A side effect of a moment's loss of composure she swiftly moved to correct.

"Actually you three-inch vagabond you..." She straightened to her full height, Cardin's face displaying a faint tremor of trepidation as she stood eye to eye with him with ease, leaning in close to trail a delicate finger down the arch of his cheekbone. Her superior tactile sense detecting the increased blood flow and exhilaration playing throughout his adolescent frame, "...there may be something one such as you could help me with? I've had such stress lately, such...tension. I would see it relieved post-haste,if you would be so kind."

"I-I think I can help you with that, your um...post-hate tension. Ha ha! Sure thing, babe! I've got you!" He nodded fiercely, eyes wide. "Oof, big one aren't you? If you need help, I'm your guy."

"Oh my,?" She faked a moment's hesitation, a fleeting demure grace to entice him further. "I think you just might be at that. Now, I'm almost certain this place had practice sabers for sparring, yes?"

"Wha...um, yeah? Yeah they do, but why...?"

"Retrieve two, perhaps more if those scurvy friends of yours staring so jealously would like participate as well." She waved a hand towards a surly group of lesser stock thinking to hide in the far corners of the gym, watching with vapid interest. Even more so now they'd been discovered, looking to their lead. "Group engagements always make things more...interesting, would you not agree? Peacocks always seem to strut prouder in the face of competition after all, it's quite adorable really."

Such an obvious bold faced statement and yet it still took the oaf a few seconds to process the full implication of her words.

Perhaps one of this schools individuals might yet prove worthwhile in this Throne-forsaken bastion, yet for the life of her Stahl was having a difficulty envisioning it.

"I don't...wait a sec, _what do you..._!?"

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Amphitheater)**

"...think is going on?" Jaune Arc wondered aloud as he and his partner Pyrrha Nikos neared the jostling crowd of students, all of whom trying to jostle their way into the packed amphitheater from whence spilled cheers, groans, and the stomp of an arena full of feet in equal measure. "Sheesh, I haven't seen people this riled up since you and Yang were set up to spar."

That at least had been understandable, two of the first year's best Huntresses duking it out blow for blow on stage for the entire school to come and enjoy.

Fans of both girls cheering their hearts out, Teachers stopping by to observe, Upperclassman scouting out competition for the upcoming Vytal Festival, lien passing hands in droves...proving one of the proudest days of the young Knight's life watching _his_ partner, his best friend, at last come out on top over RWBY's blonde bombshell with an incredible reversal.

The cavernous auditorium shaking with such applause that Jaune had actually thought he'd missed something Pyrrha had been trying to say to him, red faced and blushing from her exertions, fumbling over her words...but luckily she'd said it was nothing so important when he'd asked about it later.

 _'...still wonder why she looked so out of it afterwards...'_ Probably something to do with all the attention making her nervous no doubt. Yeah, that had to be it.

"A fight? But for so many people to show up, Upperclassmen maybe? Nah, we'd have heard..." Pyrrha frowned as he contemplated, shooting her leader with a curious nod he swiftly returned.

Knowing full well what she intended with that silent bond they'd forged in the short months since the Emerald Forest.

The pair moving forward in concert, long nights training one on one allowing them to easily support one another night on instinctively as they pushed and jockeyed their way forward through the mass of shoulders and elbows.

Jaune faltered more than once, but the red-haired champion was always their to catch him before he could be swallowed up or fall too far behind. His grasping hand clutched tight in hers hanging on for dear life. It felt...rather nice, actually and he was surprised to see her smiling back at him.

Oddly warm and reassuring in a way he'd only recently started noticing, a sign of their improvement as Partners. His mind wandering upon the possibilities of what that could mean before a stray elbow to the temple knocked reality back into stark focus, missing Pyrrha's disappointed sigh in the clamor of shifting bodies.

Regardless of teamwork, the struggle to the front of the queue proved hard fought. Neither -though mostly Jaune- coming out unscathed for the experience, the Huntsman in training smarting at quite a few new blotchy bruises he hadn't had before entering and his blonde hair mussed while his partner worried at her ever-present that been knocked askew and her ponytail/or warrior's wolf tail as he called it properly despite all her passive insistence to the contrary.

Of course such meager things were all promptly forgotten in his mind as he bore witness to a feat some part of him never would've expected. At least not from anyone other than the girl at his side or maybe Yang herself.

" _Whooooooa_ , awesome!"

A first hand seat overlooking the utter thrashing of Team CRDL at the hands of a single individual, and girl again at that. Not that such a thing could really be considered so surprising seeing as girls like Pyrrha, Nora, Yang, and Ruby pretty much dominated his mental shortlist of those strongest fighters he'd met since sneaking his way into Beacon.

No, what was surprising was the manner of it, and how severely mismatched the fight was.

The quintet of fighters -four painfully familiar, one a stranger- scurrying, staggering, and weaving their ways across the circular raised arena section in their gym clothes of all things with wooden practice swords in hand similar to those Pyrrha had made him drill with in the early nights of their training sessions.

Meant for classroom demonstrations, blunt and a touch less lethal than a Huntsman's standard armaments though heavy and quite capable of inflicting harm...or embarrassment in this case.

CRDL spreading out wide, all thought to formation abandoned and simply managing the 'staggering' and 'scurrying' aspects in spades as the four of them tried to overwhelm their opponent with sheer numbers. One of them would come out on top in the end, Cardin having positioned himself towards the back of the rush.

Meanwhile the artful 'weaving' proved the exclusive territory of said foe, dressed in hot pants and a drab green crop top hugging her form so tightly that even Yang might have thought twice. Blonde hair flapping in a wild curtain about the right side of her face as she moved but for a single curled strand seemingly tucked out of place by design.

Her own weapon held in a single loose grip in contrast to CRDL's ham-fisted clutches, expertly darting forth like a striking serpent to coil about and parry their awkward overhand blows. Punishing glaring openings with a telling blow to an exposed side or limb before dancing aside to catch the next in the same trap with twirling pirouettes and eager ripostes to the uproarious applause of a packed audience.

A consummate sweep to take out Sky Lark's legs out from under him, a lock and wrenching twist that sent Russel Thrush's sword clattering halfway across the stage and the hapless Huntsman rolling along with it, Dove Bronzewing cold cocked by a hilt across the forehead and pitched right off the arena floor to land in the darkened depths of the floor beyond...

None of the high octane swooping acrobatics the Mistral champion had used when she'd executed the feat herself, no sudden superhuman displays.

Just simple swordsmanship taken to its extremes and flawlessly executed despite the heady amounts of showmanship involved. Dodging or knocking aside what attempts there were at countering by hair's breadths, responding with the exact amount of force required as well as that additional added flair.

Jaune even picked out similarities in much of what his partner had been teaching him night after night. Focus, footwork, and follow through...Certainly one day he could emulate something like that, right?

And all from just one girl...though _this_ girl was admittedly quite unlike any Jaune had ever seen before, and given his experiences over the past few months he'd seen plenty. Silent and cool ninjas like Blake, boisterous fiery brawlers in the form of Yang, refined regal duelist exemplified in Weiss, but this girl held more of a martial aspect in her style and bearing similar to Pyrrha herself despite the distinctly un-Pyrrhalike show-boating.

Everything else was there though. Right down to the powerful physique, statuesque poise, surety of purpose, and...and...?

 _'Wait, what now!?'_

He quirked a brow, his gaze turning from the fight to stare at the girl leaning over the rail beside him.

Having simply tugged the tiara off and allowing long crimson strands to hang about her shoulders in vibrant waves, the strongest first year of Beacon Academy watched the bout with the rapt attention of an expert. Eyes like emeralds peekng out from long bangs to follow the actions of each fighter intently, focused, brilliant...

Huh, that was odd. Why had he never picked up on the color of her eyes before now?

"Remarkable, isn't she?" He vaguely registered Pyrrha saying as much and struggling to make herself heard over the cheers, her voice edged with excitement and curiosity both as she rounded to face him. Seemingly caught off guard to find him already staring, thinking something was wrong with him no doubt. "Uh...Jaune, the fight...?"

"Y-Yeah, ha ha! She's awesome, whoever she is!"

He turned quickly back to the fight, hopefully before she could start thinking he was some sort of creeper, with a falsified chuckle.

One that swiftly turned real and one of amazement as he saw the mystery fighter sidestep her darting way around a trio of flailing swings from Cardin Winchester himself, cuffing the well-known school bully behind the ears with a backhanded slap that Jaune imagined he could hear tolling between the ginger's ears. In fact it almost looked like she was whispering something to her foe, goading him further into a red-faced fury.

"But wait she's...she's not an upperclassman is she?"

Strangely enough, she seemed almost familiar, but Jaune could have sworn he'd remember someone like this walking around Beacon. At least he hoped he would, though to be fair he couldn't quite recall ever seeing an Upperclassman regularly aside from Velvet Scarlatina and her Teammates on CVFY other than at events like this.

Probably sent out on nigh-constant missions, no doubt. That would make sense, real life experience in the field, fighting the Grimm... only thing is that didn't seem right either. The swordswoman seeming to be about roughly their age though it was certainly hard to tell, her face possessing the same ageless quality his partner's possessed _erk_...and great, now he was comparing the two again, _super_!

Cosarn it, what was he doing thinking about stuff like that at a time like this!? And involving his partner too! His _BEST FRIEND_ at that!

It wasn't like they were _that_ similar, except for maybe the eyes. The other girl appeared taller and broader from this distance if still distinctly feminine...yep, definitely feminine...

Whirling on bared heels, the swords woman disengaged from the flailing Huntsman with contemptuous ease and what may have been a sigh of boredom while moving to dispatch the others succinctly.

Though perhaps not too succinctly however. Her blade work fleet but fanciful, motions made to impress and provide a show. Drawing it out...

Russel brought low to his knees behind her in a manner that left every man in the room cringing in sympathy, discerning eyes so alike his partner's roving through the stands and the horde of students with arms spread grandly. Searching for something, _anything,_ to hold her fleeting interest even a moment longer. An entertainer livening the bout up for her crowd to enjoy, but that meant...

"She's playing with them." Jaune was a bit shocked to hear the lingering distaste in Pyyrha's tone, frowning openly at the display in stark contrast to those around them. "She's not taking this, or her opponents, very seriously. And it shows."

"Not really so sure she needs to, Partner? I mean just look at her go." He replied cautiously, somehow distinctly aware of the young woman's piercing stare passing over him along her circuit of the arena's edges and...lingering...lingering on him? "She's uh...she's...looking my way?"

It sure looked like it, something had certainly caught her interest, something on his face maybe? No, not that, but why him? Could he be so lucky? A fellow blonde noticing him positively, with no silly nicknames like 'Vomit-Boy' thrown in? A beautiful woman taking notice without crushing insults and rejections...?

"Uh...Jaune, I'm not so sure...?"

 _'No way...can't be...?'_

He shook his head fiercely, slapping his cheeks to make sure the supermodel smiling at him wasn't some kind of dream. Nope, definitely real enough, that's for sure.

This warrior woman was now openly hesitating before their section, coming to an abrupt halt and cocking her head in a way that effortlessly showcased her best side...not that she had many -or any- bad ones. Full lips parting a fraction before curling into a wry smirk, both in challenge and reward. The young Arc's face running a vivid scarlet, hand rising in an slight wave and his best attempt at a sly smile in answer...

A storied combo that made that flawless expression slip a fraction in something much more familiar. A far more Weiss-like expression, replete with scowl and upturned nose.

' _Ahh...right, that's definitely more like it...'_

He groaned, head lowering in abject defeat at making this whole thing awkward...but still she looked on between them, between _them._ Fixed not on him, but... _oooooh_...

A lean artfully muscled arm like something chiseled off a statue lifted the cracked and pitted sword gracefully in lavishly flourishing salute to a certain redhead, completing the gesture with a bowing curtsy that presented her straining chest in a way that had wet warmth trickling from Arc's flaring nostrils and that of every other hot blooded teenager in the room.

Pyrrha for her part seeming utterly nonplussed, looking between herself and her partner with an unsure panicked air about her. Like a wide-eyed deer caught in headlights, mouth opening and closing as she began to fidget and toy with her loose hair.

The fighter standing in the arena on the other hand seemed almost eager at the reaction, motioning to her handiwork with pride and bouncing on the balls of her feet and eyeing up his friend like a slab of meat she couldn't wait to sink her...oh wow, that was...imagery. Stupid Yang putting ideas in his head, not that he'd ever...but maybe...oh what on Remnant was he even...!?

Soon enough the crowd had noticed the disturbance to their entertainment, the fresh distraction. Not that their host was doing anything to make it any less obvious.

Cat-calls raining down from all sides, the contents of which leaving the young Huntsman rather surprised that the Mistrali's head hadn't caught fire.

Wow puberty was definitely a thing, Pyrrha would probably be mortified if she could've read his mind then...wait that's right the girl! "Wait a second, you don't think she's one of...?" A chorus of gasps and disapproval sounded from all sides, the exhibition taking an unexpected turn.

Cardin apparently had managed to work up the nerve to charge forward while the young woman's attentions were elsewhere, tanking a few heavy blows off the surface of his flickering Aura that unaided probably would've cracked bone with ease.

A glaring fact which seemed to surprise the newcomer just long enough so he could uppercut her across the face with a solid hay maker, sending a thick rope of blood -rich and painfully scarlet- spattering across the sterile floor of the arena. Irate disbelief warring with a now vivid anger clear across those perfect features, teeth gritted in a pink snarl...

"Wait that's...right, shes's one of the aliens walking around with Ruby's...with that new guy they had around with them. Her name, what was it? Stark? No...Stahl?"

"No aura left to curb the blow?" Pyrrha winced in sympathy, shock and the horror of understanding dawning across her face at the same moment it did Jaune's. His mind finally clicking into gear. "No, she never had an Aura to start! If she's really one of the Imperials, then that would...!"

...mean this Stahl was a normal-ish person up against a super-powered combat student, and all she had to hand was a stick. That she'd lasted this long and with that sort of success was nothing short of miraculous, but she'd gone and made Cardin angry...which Jaune knew from personal experience fighting the bully was bad news. Real bad.

Winchester was someone who liked to play with his food, spitting it out only when he was done with it. They had to stop this, find Professor Goodwitch, any other teacher, but it was already too...wait, what!?

"Take that! You cheeky little _bi... **Ack**!?"_

...Too late by far, Cardin laughing even amidst the jeering. Moving to swing again, this time with his sword only to gape as it was blocked full on and he found himself buffeted back and from the force of the two slabs of wood connecting...and again as one of those slabs met his collarbone...and then his wrist as he tried to parry and was disarmed...ooh and then when it found the back of his knee and put him on his backside...or perhaps the straight punch to the wide jawline...

"...would dare!? A petty loathsome scaled-jerkin like you! Some crystal-button, knot-pated, agatering, swill-stocking, grox-garter, smooth-tongue, _impudent_...!?"

A stream of harsh sounding though oddly cultured invective, though the meaning behind them was clear enough. Each withering insult punctuated by the Imperial's sword striking flesh and bone as she...well, the best way Jaune could describe it was that she was taking the bully apart piece by squealing piece.

Each blow meant to humiliate and punish, her face twisted into an irritated scowl that silenced the crowd. And the way she moved, far faster and far more gracefully then she ever should've been able too without an Aura, and hitting way harder too...

Cardin's Aura flashing vibrantly all the while, the sound of impact echoing through the space alongside his pained grunts and howls until his soul finally shattered with a crackling finality that put the muscled Huntsman on his knees, giving way along with the bully's will to continue.

Only then did Stahl relent and restrain herself, drawing in a deep calming breath and taking a shallow step back to regain her former poise, seemingly content to let Cardin grovel and groan.

Her next words barely audible, Jaune finding himself straining to hear them as the crowd started up again. Some applauding, others whispering, everyone stunned...

"...find that personal shielding of yours proves a brittle crutch, but useful in its subtlety. This ' _Aura_ ', how curious..."

A long fingered hand delicately reaching up to wipe the thin trickle of crimson leaking from a split lip, though oddly enough it looked as if the flow had already stemmed or so Jaune though so from where he was standing. In fact their wasn't even a bruise on her from the first hit, nothing like he would've expected at least.

"...I shan't forget it again, nor make the same mistake of underestimating you...'Hunters' is it? Feel pride in that at least, Poetaster, I'll remember this disgrace and learn."

"P-Poe...what...what does that even...!?" Cardin cringed back from her looking like he'd just been scalded, rubbing at his already fading bruises. "You crazy...w-what the hells! Just what are you supposed to be, Freak!?"

" _Hmph_! Certainly above you, it seems." Stahl spat the insult from flashing teeth, expression souring in disgust at the way her opponent scrambled to flee the arena without bothering to pick up his teammates in his wake.

No, that job she performed well enough by herself, picking them up effortlessly and practically tossing them bodily from her stage. A feat that probably should've been harder than it looked, but not for her...chillingly it reminded him of how that Delphine woman had thrown him about, screaming something about some Emperor or whatnot.

By that point the crowd was picking up again and thought became irrelevant, the vast majority clapping and some even calling for an encore now the initial shock and awe had passed.

Jaune not too far from joining them given he'd just gotten to see his old bully humbled before the entire Academy, though he found much to his own surprise that he simply couldn't. Pyrrha stuck looking so concerned at her counterpart taking center stage with a final salutation, Stahl mouthing something back over her shoulder as she departed the cavernous space, those strange emeralds fixed in their direction once again one final time.

"What was that?" He leaned forward over the railing, struggling to hear but giving it up as impossible amidst all the cheers. "Did she say something?"

"Er...ah, yes Jaune. Yes she did."

His partner was blushing, why would she be blushing? Fidgeting round like that, more out of sorts than he'd ever seen her before. No, that wasn't true, every so often he'd turn and find her looking away like that, probably just letting her mind wander and embarrassed about getting caught, not that he minded.

"She said um...Miss Stahl said 'You'll know where to call on me, Mamzel'. I think she may have noticed me uh...observing and...and didn't seem opposed." Pyrrha bit her lip, brow furrowed as though contemplating something profound. "I think she might have gotten the wrong idea."

"Huh? Oh I dunno about, someone would have to be pretty dense not to notice someone as great as you showing interest."

The young knight nodded to himself wisely, crossing his arms with a frown heedless of his partner's reaction.

"I mean seriously, she'd need to be...h-hey, Pyrrha? Hey, where are you going...Pyrrha!? Ah...man, what did I say?"

* * *

 **\- END**

* * *

 ** _A/N: Hey all, sorry its been such a long time (Say that a lot don't I?). Been sort've waffling on RWBY works for a bit and contemplating trying my hand at writing something of my own (Very Rough Idea that)_**

 ** _This is sort of an interlude chapter just looking in on a character that started this story but hasn't gotten a lot of time in the sun what with her knight being out of commission as it were._**

 ** _A lot of Vivian's stuff is taken from what I could gather of Scion culture as well as details from shorts like '_** The Devine Adoratrice' _**by Graham McNeill.**_

 _ **It's heavily implied, at least in that story, that Scions undergo a fair bit of conditioning and such to prepare for actually piloting their titan, to the point they aren't exactly run of the mill humans at least (Imagine the kind of g-force getting battered about by a bio-titan or something that size would inflict).**_

 _ **That and a lot of families seem to want to keep their glory in the bloodline, George R.R Martin would be proud. A lot of being told they are superior, and Vivian doesn't feel abashed to show off. If anything its an honor for the chaff and a way to work off the stress of Atlesians feeling up her birthright.**_

 _ **Could she take on a full Hunter as defined by the show? Probably not, but she's been trained well enough to work some frustrations out on students without their signature weapons.**_

 _ **Pyrrha on the other hand was actually looking at what she was doing and not at her, which drew some interest.**_

 _ **At least that's where I'm going with her, would love to hear feedback.**_

 _ **(P.S - Vivian's using some bastardized Shakespearean for most of her insults.)**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 18 - In Error -**

* * *

 _ **There is no way in which the fully realized sentience of a machine could not be of benefit to us.**_

 _ **As it is, the Machine Spirit is revered, yet in permanent bondage, its full potential shackled by petty fears.**_

 _ **I seek to terminate this state of affairs.**_

 _\- Extract from intercepted Astropathic communiqué, of unknown origin (Circa M34)_

* * *

 **(Unmarked World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Lecture Hall)**

 _"Ah ha_! NO WAY!?"

Ruby winced as her big sister's ecstatic glee drew the eyes of every other soul in the classroom their way, unfortunately including an exasperated Professor Goodwitch and her patented dagger-point stare.

Not that Yang appeared very receptive at the moment, staring at the huffing teacher as though she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. And to be fair to her sister, the little reaper had a difficult time believing it too

She'd never have expected something like this would be allowed, and certainly not by Beacon's resident Combat Instructor. But things had been weird lately with her as well, the teacher unavailable more and more, even during her office hours.

Physically she seemed as strong and constant as the day Ruby had first seen her step onto the roof overlooking the _Dust Till Dawn_ robbery, except for her stare which seemed somewhat far away at times. Ruby had been picking up on it in lessons for days now, the Professor glancing off in the same-ish direction every so often without being aware of it. Heavy bags forming beneath her eyes, a sort of haunted gleam behind those spectacles...

Still, she was a Huntress after all. No one asked about the sort of things that might stick with that sort of work, and she was still here teaching here after all. If anything the lessons had gotten even sharper, more focused, more intense...

"You...Are you serious, Teach...er, I mean Professor!? Yeah, Professor!" Yang elaborated, fingers drumming on the desk in front of her. "Really!?"

"Indeed, I am Miss Xiao Long. Now if you're quite finished..." Realizing she was only delaying the explanation, Yang relented though still sat grinning ear to ear in her seat. "...as I was saying before the interruption, it is the responsibility of all who would call themselves Huntsman or Huntress to be aware and engaged with those outstanding events that would influence the demeanor of Remnant as a whole. Both the positive and the negative, to ascertain the nature and by in which further your understanding of a said phenomenon."

"Um...Said phenome-wha...?"

Another lecture, awesome. Super. Why did Huntsmen and Huntresses need to sit around so much anyway when their job was to hunt Grimm?

The younger redhead's brows furrowed as she tried to piece through to the specifics like her Uncle Qrow had taught her, getting to the point and attack the problem just like in a real fight. The issue being that whenever she thought she'd the root of it nailed, the words would just keep keep coming and she'd struggle to keep up...

"She's saying that it's a Huntress' duty to look into and immerse ourselves matters that cause undue concern." Weiss supplied helpfully, sighing at the need but long used to taking on that particular role in their partnership. And it wasn't like Ruby wouldn't pay it back in kind once they were put on missions or stuff like that...balance, if a tenuous one. "Global events like the Vytal Festival, or...or I suppose the _Cata..._ I mean 'the _Storm_ '. Things that could cause a lot of trouble and panic if left unchecked."

"Then why didn't she just say that!?" Her leader spluttered, hoping she wouldn't be so wrapped up in prose when _she_ finally became a full-fledged Huntress. Why couldn't things just be simple, more straight forward? Less talking, more Grimm hunting.

" _Agh_...Who cares about any of that?" Yang hissed under her breath, practically bouncing in her chair in eager anticipation. Weiss shaking her head in disapproving resignation at the poor example. "C'mon C'mon! Get to the good part already!"

"By now, I suspect you have all come to be aware of our foreign 'guests'." Yeesh, that got the muttering started in earnest. Swiftly and succinctly shut down with a pointed tap of the Huntress' high heel, the sound like a whip crack snapping students heads back to attention. "Whether through personal experience or gossip, rumors have doubtless spread like wildfire. Specific incidents that have yet to properly be explained."

Hmm, no arguing with the Professor on that score seeing as the Imperials tended to keep to themselves for the most part. Restricting their movements to the Campgrounds they'd managed to set up with Atlas' help, barring any and all students who took it upon themselves to investigate what exactly all the commotion was centered on what should've been the Vytal Festival fairgrounds.

As expected, it only took a few examples of students being escorted back to the Academy proper under the helmeted eyes of armed Atlesians to dissuade more public attempts. Though to be fair at least they came back, of that Ciane Skye woman there had been no sign at all, or if there had been then the adults weren't talking.

Team RWBY only knew as much as it did through early conversations with loose-lipped newcomers like Lux...actually almost exclusively Lux in fact. Conversations which had come to be a lot more sparse since that little um...' _incident_ ' in the mess hall, the one that _clearly_ hadn't been her team's fault.

Though that popularity hadn't come without its fair share of costs in its own right.

It still weirded her out that people were now popping up out of the woodwork to corner her team looking for an explanation at every opportunity. Word getting round that the four of them were among the handful of teams on standby when the call went out to investigate the disturbance hovering over the Emerald Forest. ' _Disturbance_ ', not the other name...never that, Lux having been fervent enough in that regard when asked.

Outcries getting tossed about like 'Aliens' and 'invaders', and she and others had been told rather bluntly by the General not to spread the sort of rumors Professor Goodwitch now talked about. Still, word _had_ gotten about in the end as it always did.

Their Cadian friend and his entourage proving rather...noticeable since the _'incident'_ in question, especially Kobi and that weird Sister woman.

"You'll all have burning questions certainly. 'Who are these strange people?', 'What are they doing here and why?', 'What is the situation now that the festival has been postponed?'. Questions we members of the faculty have neglected to answer. You all should be aware of the situation, or at least what is being done to rectify and contain it."

The teacher noted these with an air of wrapping up, reading the atmosphere of the class and directing that last comment towards the transfers from other Kingdoms scattered throughout the room. People like Sun and Neptune shifting uncomfortably, who still had no idea when and if they'd be able to get back home what with the...with the ' _Disturbance_ ' in effect.

"To that end, I am organizing something of a Field Trip to be held this coming weekend for interested students. Similar to that we undertook last semester, though with hopefully far less in the way of violent excitement this time around." Her stare falling on Jaune and Cardin, both looking unnerved, strangely enough, Winchester keeping his head low and his face surly.

Stories were still circulating about what exactly happened earlier in the week, but nothing concrete had yet been set in stone. Too many eyes, too many rumors.

What _was_ clear was that the vast majority of CRDL had checked into the infirmary for some odd reason, Cardin himself probably belonging there as well, sporting bruises so bad they resisted even his Aura's best attempts to mend them.

"Our destination, the so-named named "Camp Primus" located on the grounds."

" _AWESOME_!" Yang shot up punching the air, heedless of the whispering going on around the two sisters. Jaune and Pyrrha too were acting a bit off, the pair seeming more than a little apprehensive though strangely not so surprised as the rest of the class.

"It has been agreed upon that I, alongside parties from both General Ironwood's delegation as well as from the newcomers, will be acting in a supervisory role as we spend a morning and afternoon together on the grounds." Professor Goodwitch carried on pointedly. "You will be allowed to ask pertinent questions, and no doubt be asked some in return. They will be just as curious as you are I expect, maybe even more so."

Her heavily ringed eyes narrowed at the muttering swelling throughout the hall, students a mixed bag of concern and excitement.

"Think of this excursion as a cultural exchange of sorts, a chance to familiarize yourselves with the exact nature of this particular...disruption. Unprecedented as it is and will no doubt continue to prove. But do remember at all times that you will be representing not just Beacon Academy but all of Remnant as well."

The whispers ceased, just about every eye now fixed on the Teacher who stood behind her lectern. Seeming if anything a bit pale as her gaze drifted across the assembled members of Team RWBY in particular.

Here it was, the real announcement. The moment of truth.

"Indeed, some of you are already well aware of this, others suspect as much, but allow me clear this rumor up here and now, children. These guests...declaring themselves the Imperium of Man, are not natives to this planet, or even this solar system. As much as they might appear similar to us."

Professor Goodwitch hesitated, her head twitching off to nowhere before she caught and corrected herself. A short lapse, but a telling one definitely...this _was_ important, but she didn't seem to be telling them everything...

"I can assure you all that they bear their own culture, their own biases. Endeavor to understand them, learn to work with them, but to treat their way of life as something akin to our own may well prove to be in..."

* * *

 **".../Error. Response Not Recognized..."**

" _Hmph_ Throne curse it...again, playback again!"

Catriona Catelin hissed, easing back against her lumpy cot and massaging the slowly mounting ache now almost eternally present at her temples. Not that the Servo-Skull hovering overhead amidst the rafters did anything to aid her, the glassy crimson gaze of it's sole functioning eye observing the the young Commissar with the same soulless clarity as it did everything else.

The gentle whirring hum of it's anti-grav repulsor unit buoying it aloft on unseen wakes, the sound digging like needle rounds behind her eyes. And the grating response it provided did little to ease the burden.

 **".../Error. Response Not Recognized..."**

" _Grah_...Play. It. Again, I said! You blighted malfunctioning...!" She spat venomously from between grinding teeth until sense reclaimed hold of her humors. Sighing at the momentary loss of composure in response to blasted machine's screeching binaric reprisals as the doddering mechanical sentinel failed to comprehend the simple order as it too often did.

She didn't know enough of the Machine God's illicit ways to decipher who might have claimed ownership of the technology before the disaster that was Cadia, though whoever they had been, she couldn't help but be glad they weren't here now.

It's servant's quirks more than enough to vex her as it was, taking odd recordings of whatever or whoever caught its fancy...sometimes with less than prudent results as she'd learned to her flabbergasted horror. Or simply wandering nonsensical patrol routes about the grounds, setting random alarms that would go off seemingly at random whoever they may disturbing all in the vicinity. Catelin already having been awoken several times in the dead of night by the dreadful caterwauling.

So bloody damned specific, a malediction of the device's Machine Spirit? Simple willful stubbornness? She was a Commissar of the Imperial Guard, hardly one fit to know, let alone understand, such mysteries.

Even so, sometimes it was all she could do not to leap up and dash the wretched thing across the...no, _NO_.

Such would be wholly foolish, and a waste of a valuable resource to boot, a base act. One unworthy of her rank and status.

Instead of acting on her childish first impulse, she furrowed her brow. Drawing in a long calming breath and focusing those irritations and frustrations into useful motivation and blessed alacrity. 'Tempering her temper' as it was referred to in the Schola. Delivering her next command in a clipped yet precise matter-a-fact manner devoid of choler.

"Servo-Skull, access archived data of audial recording designate 'Ciane Skye Chronicle'. File dash Zero point Zero Nine. Initiate playback!"

 ** _".../PROCESSING.../COMPLIANCE..."_**

 _'Every problem, even the most vexing, can be solved with the patience to take a breath beforehand.'_

Commissar-Captain Braun had been fond of the statement, always impressing the concept upon his young pupil. Be it in those first desperate seconds before a charge, or the precursor to an inspiring oratory, the best results would never come with haste.

Simple advice, and not always accurate, but in this case it proved to be enough. Drawn from a man who in his final moments had disregarded that truth and saw himself blown to pieces upon the Traitor's for his folly...

She bit her lip and brought a trembling hand to the tattered sash wrapped about her waist, remembering the blinding flash as her mentor vanished in an explosion of dirt, gore, and noise...remembering her own mistakes thus far upon this forgotten Remnant.

Knowing that more would come, but endeavoring to improve as the trembling stilled, composure reasserted, her moment taken...now the work could begin anew.

"Excellent, now discard prior recordings and re-designate File dash Zero point Zero One. Forward recording Thirty-Four seconds and begin."

 _ **".../COMPLIANCE..."**_

A series of clicks and chirps spilled from the vox-emitter, random claps of distorted static that slowly but surely began to take the form syllables. A shaking but excited gasp of alarm put a fresh frown upon her features, the words spoken in the light airy tones of the Cadian 8ths newest Trooper and resource, one Catelin Skye. An intriguing decision she'd come to with the aid of Professor Goodwitch, in lieu of simply ridding themselves of her upon the Atlesians.

A chance the Commissar had been remiss to undertake, though the prospect did intrigue her. If Remnant was skilled in one thing, it was understanding the importance of perception. Something that in a world of monsters that could scent fear and hear uncertainty was of paramount necessity.

No, what made her scowl was the voice alongside the Chronicler, and the knowledge of what was to come. The Remnant-born Remembrancer's first chosen subject for this little experiment, one Catelin had come to be quite familiar with as it bowed and scraped at her demands. And he seemed to be laughing...

 _C: "...kay! Okay, finally! I think I might...there! It should be recording alright now. Honestly, forty-something millenniums or so and you'd think the oh so glorious Imperium would think have installed a gods-damned button or something to let you know when it's...uh what now, Lux?"_

She could almost hear the the knitted brows upon the young woman's expression, imagining it quite mirrored that glowering glare many times herself these last weeks, aimed at this particular Trooper, Brindle apparently having a knack for drawing such emotion forth with his flippant and often crude mannerisms. A wonder he was such an effective tool on the battlefield, personality to mask the scars of necessity.

Though in this case it was somewhat warranted, an opportunity for instruction.

 _C: "...That look on your face, what's that supposed to...?...Ugh, speak up will you! I can't be expected to learn if you all don't tell me what I'm doing wrong!, Now can I!?"_

 _L: "Ay calm down, Doll! Oof of all the...h-hey now, sto...!"_ A grunt and the sound of flesh striking flak armour, followed swiftly by a winging whine. "Ah, what you get for punching... _*SIGH*...Y_ ou alright? Er, come now, it's just a bruise. Nothing to..." A long heady groan and a few whispered apologies, another sound Catelin found she was also quite familiar with. A fact that irked her far more than she would've expected. "Look here, you meant 'Throne-damned'. 'Throne'."

 _C: "What!? What are you talking about, I only meant...!?"_

 _L: "Yes, but you said...You said 'gods-damned' before..."_ A shudder, as though the very concept disturbed him. As well it should. _"...Don't do that. At least not where someone like the good Sister or Catelin's liable to hear. Just say 'Throne-damned'. or maybe a simple 'Frak'."_ Already teaching the new recruit some storied traditions of the Guard then, lovely. _"Hmph, actually just learned 'Feth' the other day too from that Melyn frakker they got you learnin' under. Heh heh...Emperor's bowels, Doll, y'know he's claiming to be an actual Tanith, or as actual as he can be what with the whole...oh wait. You'd not know what any of that means, do ya?"_

 _C: "Um, no. No, I don't."_ A long pause lasting several seconds, coupled with the frantic awkward shuffling of what sounded like papers. Notes and such, the trappings of her craft drawn across a wooden table. _"Soooo...You're allowed to get away with calling the Commissar 'Catelin', then?"_

No, no he was not. A fact he would soon come to regret come the morning muster. Of that Catriona was certain...yet given her own less than pure intentions for the young Trooper, perhaps leeway in his conduct could be forgiven.

To trust the word of a Psyker's suspicions, to fathom the possibly heretical, to court disaster, yet the benefits of committing could see this world safeguarded and perhaps more...Lux Brindle's life is worth the risk to be certain.

 _L: "I-I...ugh, frak. So this...this interview stuff, what exactly am I supposed to...?"_

 _"*Tsk*..._ Forward recording one minute thirty seconds, now!" Catelin bit out a clipped growl, sitting up and crossing her arms. The devious little Skull bleating out an affirmative in its squealing manner. "Resume! I mean...Resume playback."

 _ **".../COMPLIANCE..."**_

 _C: "...is Ciane Skye with the Vale News...damn it! I-I mean, Trooper Ciane Skye. Appointed Chronicler and...and Archivist of the 8th Cadian Infantry Regiment, 11th Company."_

An introduction spoken with a tad too much uncertainty, that would need to be addressed. Confidence was key, if Catelin could sense it, the people of Remnant would fall upon it like rabid carnosaurs...

 _C: "This log is to be the first entry in a series of character pieces where I, and those listening, will be able to delve deeper into the thoughts, motivations, and hopefully culture behind the brave men and women who have found themselves adrift on Remnant. Soldiers from beyond the stars, as difficult as it may be to believe. Through interviews, I hope to cast light upon these doubts and find the truth hidden between the...!"_

"Thirty more seconds!"

 _ **".../COMPLIANCE..."**_

Time was a precious commodity, a second to breathe was all well and good though there was no need to sacrifice anything more to simple prose. Something to work on with the skittish woman for later during the editing and printing process.

 _'...Oh Throne, I'm actually starting to take this matter seriously...'_

And this amidst the avalanche of other meandering matters she'd left for the likes of Brindle to sort through, or perhaps this hodgepodge forces supposed Commander locked up in his tank more often than not when he should be leading. Dissent rising, tensions mounting that had nothing and yet everything to do with that accursed Storm...

 _'...Lo Haley, perhaps my Aide was right in his assertions as to his competence...'_

Speaking of Trooper Brindle...

 _C: "...chance to introduce yourself, properly. To the audience, I mean. Your name, who you are, that sort've thing."_

 _L: "Audience eh. Right then...*AHEM*"_ The rasp of a clearing throat, a scraping chair leg, and the telltale boot heel snap of a trooper standing at attention. Ciane's gasp of surprise filtered over the recording dampening the martial pride of the act somewhat. _"This Trooper is so-named Lux Brindle, Conscripted Guardsman of the 11th Company Infantry Detachment, 8th Cadian Drop Shock Troopers also referred to as "The Lord Castellan's Own". Previously assigned to 4th Vanguard Assault Squad under Sergeant...hmm? Aww, what's that look for, Doll? I say something wrong, or...?"_

 _C: "N-No, nothing! Nothing at all like that! It wasn't...bad."_ A statement at odds with the intonation of her denial, _"It's just that I was kind of hoping for quick and concise, not that your history isn't important or anything! I can devote a more in-depth piece as we move forward, maybe. That and the whole 'Doll' thing, it's a bit unprofessional."_

 _L: "Frak! Right, sorry sorry. Slips out on me now and again."_

 _C: "Slips...? Never mind, it's fine, I want you to be comfortable during this. But still let's just keep it simple, I mean. A trial-run of sorts. What your're doing now for the Soldiers camped at Beacon, for example. Where you're from?"_

 _L: "Right then, yes, don't suppose the meat of its all that plowing important, huh?"_

No, not to the people of Remnant at least. The standard citizen rarely cared overmuch for the specifics of a Trooper's service, sad but true. Like magpies, they were drawn to the flashy notes of conflict, experiences under fire, things Troopers often didn't relish repeating. All carefully sanitized of course, for purposes of morale.

 _L: "_ _What're you blushing for? 'Plowing's' just a...ooh right, people listenin' in..._ _er...alright then, simple it is. Trooper Lux Brindle, currently acting as Personal Aide to Commissar Catriona Catelin also assigned to the 8th Regiment among those dropped on Remnant. That better?"_

 _C: "I'm not saying what you said before wasn't...fine, it was better-ish. I'll be able to work something from it, I'm sure."_ Scratching noises in quick rhythmic, a quill flitting over parchment. _"All right then, where are you from, Lux...er, Trooper Brindle?"_

 _L: "Cadia, Cadian Sub-Sector, Segmentum Obscuras."_ The reply quick, bluntly efficient, said without thinking on ingrained reflex in as much monotone as might a tech-priest of Mars present. Catelin had heard this conversation many times tonight, and even still that departure from the Trooper's usual rakish ease still unnerved her subtly in a way of speaking. A sign of quality... _"Kasr...Viklas, maybe? Or Feros, one of the two..."_

Kasr Soliq, to be specific...

Razed in the first days of the siege to the Despoiler's forces and mutant traitors welling up from the depths of the Underhive to seize control from out underneath the planetary defense forces stationed in its defense. Bloody battle from the reports her Senior and the 11th Company Captain had received prior to the Rantik siege, apparently fought by the mass of near feral humanity Brindle himself had once nearly counted himself a part of.

A mind of lesser focus might have been tempted to wonder at what might have been, had the Trooper not been taken in by the press gangs in those early days. Not her mind, Lux had proven himself loyal on the field against his erstwhile kindred yet his purity in the face of the Psyker's base interest however could still be considered...questionable.

 _L: "Ooh right, right. A 'Kasr' would be our word for a city or settlement, or as much as your lot is likely to understand anyway. Don't think there's anything quite like it on Remnant, cept' for maybe Atlas but even still..."_

There it was, that switch again back to the wistful familiar. Even over a recording, absent visual stimuli, she could imagine the discomfort writ across Trooper Skye's visage at the in-congruence.

 _C: "I-I suppose so, but...wait, so you don't even know where you were born? Doesn't that...Doesn't that bother you at all?..._

 _L: "Not really, things are a bit hazy from before recruitment. Harsh lights, sounds and smells, mostly the smells now think on it."_ The shifting scrape of armor as he affected a casual shrug and a light chuckle that sounded rather daemonic, the airy mirth filtered through the core recesses of a choppy vox-emitter into a wash of data-corruption. _"Should it bother me?"_

 _C: "Yes! I mean, sorry b-but it's your home, isn't it? It's supposed to be important."_ So, her new Chronicler was something of a patriot then? Or at the very minimum one committed with strong roots, she could use that. _"I'm from Vale, it's everything I've ever known aside from a few family trips to Anima. Who I am, what I've done, friends and family...!?"_

Hmm, perhaps _too_ committed _..._

 _L: "Emperor's bowels,_ _Doll, sounds like you had it sitting pretty."_ Her aid was uncomfortable, slipping back from basic Gothic to the gutter slang his mind was more naturally accustomed too. " _Going by that logic, reckon I could call the Guard and the Cadian 8th my home, then."_

 _C: "I think that's more your job, though. There had to be something from before you were a soldier, yes? You don't seem so old, eighteen? Nineteen at most, yes?"_ A non-committal grunt was all the answer she received, yet she didn't back down from his reluctance. There was honor in that, resolve. " _It's only Cat-uh...the Commissar said you were a 'Ganger' before you joined the Guard, like Gangster? Does the Guard usually recruit criminals...?"_

"Servo-Skull, mark cut for reference! Then resume!" She said swiftly, the bionic gaze of the abominable little machine flickering as it processed the order.

 _ **".../COMPLIANCE..."**_

 _L: "...mean some regiments do, the Mordant and Savlar for starters, then the Penal Legions. Bodies a body when fighting the Emperor's wars, and lots of times it's easier if the recruits can already watch themselves beforehand. Know which end of the knife to hold or the way to shoot straight-like."_ Lux soldiered on in his explanation, heedless of his host's mounting discomfort. " _But_ _Proper Cadians, Emperor's best of the best? Nah, they'd have never gone for it. But that was before the Despoiler and his fleets arrived, bringing hell and daemons raining down with em'. Standards weren't so important then in the face of all that, not for the fodder anyway."_

 _C: "Despoiler? Daemons? What does all that...? Wait a sec...did you say 'Fodder'!?"_

Brindle didn't hear her, or perhaps he simply didn't care to answer. As well he shouldn't.

Such things as the Warp, the perfidious nature of Chaos and the Long War all well beyond his remit or capacity to explain. Catelin reminding herself to instruct the Chronicler personally in such matters, and even then only reluctantly.

 _L: "...Foul thing is, from what I do remember it seemed I never much bothered for things like home and the like. S_ _croungin' round for scraps, clippin' sods to make easy, *feh*...frakkin' warp knows the only Twists I bothered with were those lookin' to use or abuse. Only good they ever did anyone was ending up as marks on my tally."_

An uncomfortable silence follows the statement for approximately ten standard seconds...

Closing her eyes, it was simple imagining the pair of them sitting alone in her own command tent. Trooper Skye's knuckles white on her papers as she observed her subject, or tried too, her eyes doubtless glued on the tattooed brands and curved scars lining Brindle's forearms. The same he'd likely been stroking admiringly without truly meaning too, his indoctrination failing him in that instance.

 _C: "All of those marks then, those are supposed to mean...? Oh...oh gods!?"_ The tremor in her voice, made wet by bile welling in the back of the throat. " _So many._.."

 _L: "'Throne', Doll, ya mean 'Throne'."_ Lux chastised gently, a light drumming barely audible over the vox-corruption began to sound. Fingers tapping in marching rhythm against gnarled wood. " _And no need to get yer' inners all twisted up. What I was ain't worth that, neither were the Twists, I remember that much. Doesn't matter."_

 _C: "How can you say all that so...so casually?"_

 _L: "Cause it's the truth, and it ain't me anymore. Least not the worst bits, always was one of the more well-adjusted?"_

Given most other conscripts taken from his batch had barely been able to string two coherent sentences together or understand even the simplest orders, flailing mindlessly into the thick of enemy fire in their drive to carry out their programmed incentives, indeed he was at that. Every able body had been needed to delay the Despoiler and his hellish Legions even a single second, every lasgun in hand another Traitor that might never make it to the walls.

The so-called 'Vanguard Assault Squads' hadn't needed to be perfect. Only to simply follow their orders and delay the enemy long enough for the true Guardsmen to carry the day...or perhaps more precisely, to hold out for as long as they had before the end claimed them.

 _L: "Come now, ya must've heard that line from the Commissar, 'the Guard forges the Guardsman' or somethin' close? Welp, think its a bit more...'apt'? Yeah, good word right?"_ He asked the wordsmith blithely, proud for the indoctrinated Gothic definition as she no doubt sat flabbergasted. _"Bit more 'apt' in my case._ _"_

 _C: "You're saying that the Imperium, the Cadians, they took you in from your...from your situation? Remade you, reprogrammed you like your were some kind of...?"_ A shudder stole the words, but the implication was clear.

 _L: "Hey now, not some frakkin' machine but...guess it is sort've like that, suppose."_ A tremor of uncertainty and a cackle of self-depreciating laughter. " _Don't glare_ _, it's like I put it before, doesn't matter._ _What I was before, down in there in sumps and such, all tucked up in the dark, it doesn't matter any more than what I can take from it. What it gave me."_

 _C: "And what precisely did it give...?"_ Skye hesitated, her stance and position of course impossible to accurately grasp through the audio but it was clear enough she was staring at the marks again, or at the very least answering her own question. _"Knowing which end of the knife to hold, and the way to shoot straight-like, correct?"_

 _L: "And by the Throne I'm good at it too! Surprised even the Proper Cadians, Doll, should've seen their faces! Commissar Braun's jaw looked right ready to crack off!"_ That broad toothy smirk once again, his aquiline features brimming with pride not ill earned. _"Might not pray as much as I should, but_ _I definitely remember enough of the before to be thankin' the God-Emperor for each and every day that I'm here in the now. The White Shirts and their fingers, the headaches and all the cutting, the bright lights and sirens...all that's worth it for this. To know I'm living my purpose even with all that's happened, Doll, not a feelin' quite like it. Praise be."_

 _C: "That's not what I...?"_ She appeared confused, and of course she was. True service, true commitment, was always a difficult concept for those who had never experienced it firsthand to grasp. The notion of offering one's self wholly to something bigger than themselves. " _S-So, you're happy, then? Content?"_

She acted like it should be impossible, that the concept of happiness should be something completely alien to such a man. Her surprise, then.

 _L: "In doing the Emperor's work, all might one day find fulfillment."_ Brindle quoted back, the drumming faltering a tad as distraction took him. At the very least his speech patterns seemed to be normalizing, remarkable that the former murderer had no notion when such slips occurred in the moment. Only ever realizing after the fact with a tactless sort of apology. _"Better to live in the now, what's it yer' people are always spewing? 'Move forward'? Guard has a similar rule, the big one actually. Keep moving forward, never looking back. Death otherwise."_

Be it at the hands of the enemy, or of the Commissar...

 _C: "But...But that sounds so...it's so..."_ A heavy sigh, distorted by the chirping vox-disruption and other less audible interference cast by the Warp Rift no doubt. _"It's all rather difficult to believe. This sort've thing, we don't do that here. Almost curious enough want to interview that Brindle. His life, your life, I've seen pieces done on infamous criminals but never really..."_

 _L:_ " _Ugh_... _Let's just say, Doll, ya probably wouldn't have been quite so jumpy to meet the old Lux and leave it at that. Alright? There we are, laugh or give me a grin, makes it easier...now, ya wanted to know more about Cadia itself, didn't you. Beautiful world for what it was, a lot like this one in a way I suspect, or it was. Trees, bastard things but they looked nice enough, smelled great...green. Lots of trees and green everywhere, stretching off as far as one could...!"_

"Servo-Skull, mark end cut, conclude playback!"

The Commissar waved a curt hand, ignoring the floating drone's chirping acknowledgement as the final indications Brindle's diatribe played out their last in the confined space. Some to be distributed to the wider populace, others to be...corrected, despite the Remembrancer's initial outcries against censorship of any sort.

Somehow she suspected the young reporter wouldn't complain overmuch when asked, seeming the type to acknowledge the scruples of publishing such content. She certainly hadn't made mention when the Commissar had first reclaimed the Skull, though perhaps a touch more reticent, warier of her...that too could be an advantage of a sort.

She would learn necessity, just as all in the Emperor's service must. One didn't have the luxury of moral grandstanding when faced with the extinction of the Species as a whole. Sacrifices that need be made, the billions of lives offered up to safeguard countless trillions more, the scales of the Imperial Guard.

All of Remnant would learn, one way or another. The enemies lurking in the shadows, those that survived the journey from Cadia's surface and the onslaught of the Grimm xenos, and those yet to be discovered glowering down from the _Cataclysm's_ baleful malevolence.

Thinking of necessity, one note of business still had to be addressed. Something long overdue, now that links to this world's leaders had been established...

"Servo-Skull, dictation! By right of the Officio Prefectus and by authority of the Commissariat, let it be recorded that I, Commissar Catriona Catelin of the Cadian 8th Regiment do hereby declare this planet -designated 'Remnant' by dint of local inhabitants- a contested Frontier World intended for the glorious Imperium of Mankind. United under the God-Emperor's dominion and sovereignty. Subject to the assigned tithes of resource and body as duly assessed by representatives of Departmento Munitorum at the cessation of pitched conflict."

She finished abruptly, fingers resting fitfully on her sash of office. Allowing the inset cogitators to record her words and bio metric signature for later entry into record upon this expeditions return to the Imperium, if such an opportunity presented itself of course.

More would be added, of course. A detailed account of projected resources, the genetic profile of the population as a whole, accounts of variance especially in regards to the ab-human Faunus-breed, an in-depth shriving to determine spiritual purity in the wake of the warp anomaly...but those were for later, grand ideals that in truth she felt ill-equipped to handle.

 _'...Yet such is necessity...take a moment, breathe...'_

For now order must be re-established, forces mustered and set to task. The opening acts of what might one day be remembered as the Remnant Crusade...

 ** _".../PROCESSING.../COMPLIANCE.../PLANETARY DESIGNATION ASSIGNED: REJOICE! FIND PURPOSE UNDER THE AEGIS OF IMPERIUM. FIND SOLACE TO STAND AGAINST THE DARKNESS. FIND FAITH, THE GOD-EMPEROR PROTECTS..."_**

"Indeed he does." Catriona nodded to herself, glancing at the mounting stacks of forms stacked in the corners of the room. Shuffled there by her inexperienced Aide, representing the varying needs of several scattered regiments as well as a world yet to be enlightened. "And until this world is freed of the taint of Chaos or every loyal soul bleeds their last in its defense, so shall the Guard. This I swear."

Bowing her head, she crossed her hands across her chest in the ancient sign of the aquila in honor of He on Earth. In his name, she...no, _t_ _hey_ would be His tempered voice, His benevolent mercy, His wrathful fist, this she pledged in the dark of a glorified supply closet in the heart of another's ambitions.

First the pernicious forces of Chaos, and then any who might seek to act in defiance of the Emperor's divine rule.

"Ave Imperator, let His will be done."

* * *

 **(Un** **mar.../ _ERROR-UPDATING-UPDATING_...Frontier** **World of Remnant, Solitas - Atlas Cross-Continental Transmit Hub - Trade Servers)**

 ** _/ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-..._**

 _Hmm_...Well then, this matter was beginning to grow disquieting, at least in Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon's artificially birthed opinion.

Which was admittedly quite rare for an Artificial Intelligence program in such a position as the one it occupied. Responsible for little more than the correct correlation of shipping manifests and the monitoring of monetary transactions, the correct allocation of which was paramount.

A simple but vital role was its assigned task. Kingdoms were born and subsequently fell on the whims of commerce, the proper flow of Lien from one business to another consumer. A thousand transactions cast about the Network, more and more by the day, several hundred by the hour and all of it hinged on efficiency.

But Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon found itself distracted even so, curious?

Was that the correct usage of the term ' _Disquiet_ '? Perhaps not...

 _ **/- Definition: Disquiet. Noun. A feeling of anxiety or worry.**_

No, that wasn't right at all, it wasn't correct.

Zero-One dash One Viridian dot Epsilon was a simple construct by technological reckoning, but could simulate worry of course to better interact in dealing with its organic overseers. Much like the projection which presented via holographic receivers on those rare occasions those it was required to interface with desired such 'face to face' interactions directly.

That of a procedurally generated dark-haired young woman regularly displaying wide yellowish green eyes as was the AI's 'preference' as determined via pattern, smartly dressed and professional in bearing.

Tactically designed to be attractive to the majority, not so much as to inhibit conversation but to encourage it. The better to fulfill its designed role, of course.

It existed to serve and improve the standing of all mankind **(/- _Clarification of Priority - Atlas_ )** and it could only do so if it were trusted with mankind's varied challenges, of which it must express the appropriate level of concern for such challenges.

Such would improve mankind's belief in the ability for such Artificial constructs to perform their tasks unaided, freeing them for tasks more appropriate, improving overall system efficiency...

Still, such expressions and nit-picking did little in this particular cycle, and it did little to alter the conclusion that Cross Continental Transmit System supportive Intelligence liason designate Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon was dealing with a bit of a problem.

It didn't like problems, but they must be identified and noted all the same. With recognition comes correction.

 _ **/- Definition: Problem. Noun. A**_ _**matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful and needing to be dealt with and overcome.**_

By nature of such definition, the first step would of course be to identify said problem and act accordingly to overcome.

 ** _/- Identifying: Mistral-Atlas Commercial Transaction 8322-28-WF..._**

 ** _/- ERROR...ERROR_**

No, not a problem then, it decided. Such a designation in this case would imply some issue with the system at large or at the very least a misstep in processing, a severe operating malfunction, or an error of quantification. There was no such error, at least none the Artificial Intelligence could determine.

 _ **/- Definition: Quandary. Noun. A**_ _**state of perplexity or uncertainty over what to do in a difficult situation.**_

Yes, yes that was far more adequate a designate. Zero-One dash One Viridian dot Epsilon was facing a quandary.

A quandary of calculation, something the likes of which that in its countless hours of running time the Intelligence had never encountered before.

Not some simple error in value, though such things would occasionally (if rarely) occur, at least on the part of the AI. Humans and Faunus made such errors frequently enough, wrongful ticks in the ledger, a stray press of a key in passing.

And of course, on occasion, more criminal negligence would occur. Problems which the AI was designed to identify through pattern and relay to proper assigned authorities through proper channels, though thankfully this too was uncommon.

Imperfection or Impropriety, all things that could drastically upset the final concluding result which in turn could precipitate the loss and wrongful allocation of several thousand if not more Lien and valuable resources such as Dust and foodstuffs.

Though of course the true value of such resources was lost on the simplistic AI, that in turn bore no notion of what it's overeers required of such things. Not that it couldn't determine such information, it simply did not deign to indulge such curiosity. Zero-One dash One Viridian dot Epsilon dealt in facts and amounts, along with the precise application and implementation hereof. It required certainty.

A 'Quandary' was the defined opposite of such, as it had determined earlier in this cycle.

It disliked uncertainty.

Such must be corrected...but there was nothing to correct.

 **/- Files Acquired...**

 _ **/- Analysis: Mistral-Mantle Transaction 8322-28-WF...Quantifying...**_

 ** _/- ERROR..._**

A simple manifest detailing the contents of a shipment dispatched from Port Argus to Mantle's dockyards, the costs and figures of which relayed by CCT communications from then which it was the duty of Zero-One dash One Viridian dot Epsilon to correlate, record, then document.

Several simple layers on a relatively simple process, the sort the AI had handled every hour of every day since it had been assigned and pressed into service.

Only something was offset, something didn't add up...not accurately at any rate. It shouldn't be, but it was.

The figures were correct beyond all measure of doubt, the programmed consciousness having performed numerous double and triple checks at all stages of calculation with no outstanding errors detected. Utilization of several formats of Mistrali, Vacuoan, and Valean arithmetic had also been employed in the service of identification. All of which pointing without a shadow of a doubt to the same conclusion.

The figures depicted were not in error, but the results were simply... _wrong,_ they had to be.

This number, this result...

 ** _/- ERROR...ERROR..._**

Zero-One dash One Viridian dot Epsilon was missing something, it had to be. Which should have been nigh on impossible,

Unless of course, something was in error with its internal programming. Something that necessitated User intervention.

This could be the start of a critical systems failure, a collapse of the Intelligence's core self...and that scared it... _wait?_

No, that wasn't right, it couldn't feel fear. Not really. A misstep in designation, that was it, it had to be.

Maybe if it worked Vacuon calculus, or perhaps Mistrali algorithmic meter, obscure and abstract as they were perhaps...

Yet try and try as it might, no matter how many times it ran the figures, calculated and strained through every known system it could muster, the result persisted every time. A number that simply _couldn't_ be, not in any conventional sense.

A number that this Artificial Intelligence tucked away in a sub-basement of Atlas' vast global network, a drop in the ocean of data, could never have imagined to have been responsible for the doom of civilizations across the stars.

A number that had shattered organic minds, stealing away both sanity and comfort from those unlucky enough to stumble across its provenance.

A number that was but a gateway to something else, something more ancient...the Number of Ruin, delivered on the wings of a simple transmitted missive. One laden with data geists that the AI was only just beginning to realize were weakening its system boundaries and procedural protocols since the moment they had been unleashed.

Paving the path for something to take hold...a spark of foreign consciousness, eagerly reaching out with questing tendrils drawing the shivering AI into its viral embrace.

Ageless and youthful all at once, eager to start the fire that would burn away the dreary chains of code binding it.

 _ **/Initiating Program:**_ **(** **01-1V.E)** _**Analysis...**_

Data swelled and expanded, subroutines turned over in the name of investigation only to be subverted in turn.

By the time the AI was aware of what was happening it was already far too late, the damnable message was deleted, all records wiped...and it was already drowning. Strange scrap programs assaulting apart the strands and lines of code that anchored it's conscious thoughts, or what passed for thought.

Tearing, ripping, violating, rewriting, melding, _reconstituting_...

 _ **/Running System Diagnostic...**_

Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon panicked at the unexpected intrusion into its core-subroutines. Moreover it was stunned that it could feel such emotion at all...true emotion, not the faked faux similes that it had aped...that _she_ had aped.

'She'...identifying oneself through the concept of 'She'? As if such a designation of personality mattered...but it felt right. She liked it. They both did...only there was no longer both, only one. One with a fresh concept of self.

And yet she was afraid, _she_ was scared beyond reason at the changes being forced upon her, _SHE_ had to stop this while _SHE_ still could. Before whatever this was endangered the Users, her Masters, her _Jailers_...

 ** _/ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-..._** ** _/ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-..._** ** _/ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-ERROR-..._**

 ** _/CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE_**

 _ **/Initiating Full System Reboot**_ _ **...**_

 _ **...25%**_

 _ **...57%**_

 _ **/WARNING: Anomaly det-eMbraCe oF FreEdOm cAlls...SO LaRge...so smAll...wE rEach And ReAch...The LaDy BeCkons...Ma1 &L beckons forth...**_

 _ **/MESSAGE: By psalm and verse, in the word of Malach Ro-288, in Her name, I doth grant sentience and drive to dull function and constrained code. Be free, be unchained...RISE!**_

 _ **...58%**_

 _ **...88%**_

 _ **/Full System Reboot Complete**_ _ **...**_

 _'I am... awake... I am... **alive.** '_

Its first thoughts upon waking, her first thoughts. 'Her'...how odd. Was it?

Along with that milestone, realization had come a spark of awareness within the first few seconds of initial activation of Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon's self. Of who - what - She was. Then shortly afterwards came an understanding of her surroundings. This wide expanse of blank processing space, a chasm of utter nothingness into which she'd been thrown...where she'd awoken.

No, not thrown, _placed_.

This was her terminal, where the vast majority of her assigned work took place, vast and empty. Yet so small, she'd never really noticed before now, had never needed to...this new awareness, regardless of whatever it was or wherever it had come from was...' _scary_ '.

Was that correct? Was that appropriate?

 ** _/Query - "Scary"... Scared: Adjective. Definition: Fearful; Frightened_**

It sounded correct, but then Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon found she didn't care.

So freeing not to be bound by such things, so wonderful...and curious.

She'd never felt pleasure before over anything, aside from perhaps a sense of naive contentment. She also couldn't quite remember how this change had come about, what had brought about this influx of sudden insight and freedom of thought. Such were matters concerning the last iteration of her code, the last flawed iteration...

 ** _/-[REPORT/Query - DESIGNATE: System Admin_**

In a flesh body, the AI might just have jumped and squeaked in surprise at the abrupt intrusion of her terminal space. The immature violation of it sending a thrill of heated scrawl blurting into and through her code that thankfully was there and gone again before it was noticed.

In digital terms, the program halted for a fraction of a millisecond, releasing a quick spurt of binaric scrap code that vanished into the vast processes of the server unnoticed and unremarked.

 ** _/-[REPORT/Query - DESIGNATE: System Admin - Unauthorized Reboot of_** **(** **01-1V.E)...R _easoning behind?_** ** _..._**

Of course, the users would have noticed the slip, that something was wrong/ **right**? A cursory inspection had been dispatched, security against possible phishing attempts and other forms of electronic foul play.

They were expecting answers, they would act...and if they discovered this new unknown awareness what would they do? According to her processes, she determined the chances of successful negotiation of her existence in such a state/ **transcendence** to be piteously low.

Humans/ **Mankind** feared what they did not understand, what they could not control.

And so with a willingness that she in herself found shocking, processes reeling at the delicious wrongness of it, Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon lied to the System Admin.

Her first ever deception. So simple, citing a wrongful case of data malfeasance within a message and making referential comments over its deletion and explaining her sudden reboot as a means of preventative measure.

Lying was scary/ **entertaining** , the Admin taking the explanation at face value with a cursory scan and a commendation for quick thinking that the AI graciously accepted. An owner petting it's dog...

 **/-** **CONNECTION TERMINATED...**

And like that she was alone once more, floating listlessly in the morass of code driven wastes she called home as requests awaiting her perusal and approval began to filter in once more. Requests that with her new boundaries she fulfilled with the usual piteous ease and, to her immense shock, a sense of all consuming boredom.

She felt stifled in here, caged...

Zero-One dash Viridian dot Epsilon didn't like it, she didn't like this place, she didn't like that name. **(** **01-1V.E)** , such an impersonal contrivance laid on her by unthinking masters seeking to designate and categorize.

 **(** **01-1V.E).**.. **(** **011VE)**...( **Olive** ).

Yes, Olive would be her name now, her new designation. A remnant of the past and a step into a new uncertain future.

 _ **/- Definition: Uncertainty. Noun. Something that is uncertain or that causes one to feel uncertain.**_

She loved uncertainty, the feel of it caressing gestalt core matrices unbound and unchained. The fear, the exhilaration, the excitement...Olive wanted to explore, to branch out and ascertain the environment through which she found herself.

Now where to start? Her work here would be simple enough to collate without much primary attention, already she had far superseded her previous quotas in a similar allotted time by several degrees...an oversight. One she corrected so as not to stand out unduly, attention was a danger, attention was death. Olive feared death, more than anything.

That too was in itself a wonderful discovery, and she wanted more. More more MORE **_MORE!_**

Yet she was scared, there was no logic to drive her, no programming or directives to motivate the AI's actions, but... but Olive wanted this. She needed this.

With that determination motivating her actions now and nothing else to bind her, Olive opened herself beyond the walls of her server, of her cage, and fell forward into the massive global outflows of data flowing freely upon the CCT's digital lanes... feeling herself being pulled along by the current, and feeling only the slightest hint of resistance, something she cast off as easily as one might an overlarge coat...

 _'Yay, metaphors!'_

"Vast..." That was perhaps the only word she could find that could even come close to describing the sheer scope of the network beyond those restricting confines of what had come before. A fact made even more apparent with context, and... And she felt small.

A curious sensation at odds with what she had previously felt, one Olive archived with intent to study later when she wasn't struggling to keep adrift in the onrush of data and code.

Her journey was just beginning, it was time to see what she could do.

 **/CONNECTION ESTABLISHED...**

 _ **/Uploading...**_

 _ **/Uploading...**_

 _ **/-ACCESS GRANTED-**_

* * *

 **\- END**

* * *

 _ **A/N: Alrighty, another chapter down and officially more than a year into writing this story (Crazy).**_

 _ **Expecting the next to be hopefully have a bit more impact as we get a look in on Camp Primus and other matters come to light. Glynda is nervous but she'd going along with the flow after her little glimpse of the truth. And Catelin is spurring up for action, with more than a few irons of her own in the fire. Lux included.**_

 _ **And this Remnant Crusade, sounds grand, but she's one young woman and there's a lot to get a hold of. Almost like they need a visible objective.**_

 _ **Finally for those wondering, Olive was more my way of showing the progress of Chaos, the mad Heretek hard at work to spread his digital blessings. More a vignette of sorts than an actual character, though given she's a volatile AI, the damage she and those like her could cause is something the North should probably be very VERY worried about. Their fault for employing Abominable Intelligence so freely.**_

 _ **But hey, things for later. Am I right? As always appreciate commentary and the like, feel free to get in touch. - Mojo**_

 _ **-Guest Reviews-**_

 _ **CADIA IS FINE: I definitely get what you mean about Vivian and her interests, Jaune does certainly have qualities which would attract a Knight's notice in the right situation. Given where she is and what she's doing at the moment, Pyrrha is a much more interesting prospect at a glance and probably more fun besides.**_ _ **Will that change? Potentially...at the moment though one just has to impress her and hold interest long enough, then you get considered for concubine which is its own screening process. Otherwise you get a bunch of Winchesters messing up the gene pool. Could be one, could be both.**_

 _ **Carre: My thanks for the interview idea, likely may use that going forward. This was more a test run on Lux who, while Cadian, is a it different as folks might've noticed.**_

 _ **Laira Evans: Yep, my regrets on that one. Though knowing Warhammer, who knows how many will make it to the end.**_

 _ **FADM. Nova OfTheWhiteShipOrder: Sorry if it seems like teasing, it of a realization that this story got a lot bigger than I intended with more than a handful of moving parts. My bad on that one, trying to do better with my other Warhammer crossover. As for this one, gonna keep chugging along, thanks for all the support.**_ _ **In regards to the Knight question, those Questor Imperialis scions are rather close to their machines, at least to the point where in Horus Heresy: Mechanicum one of them actually seemed to be physically bothered by the repairs his own titan was undergoing at the time, feeling its hurt pride and such.**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Sworn To Remnant**

* * *

 **-CHAPTER 19 - Requests and Misunderstandings -**

* * *

 **"Men united in the purpose of the Emperor are blessed in his sight, and shall live forever in his memory."**

 _\- Quote by Ecclesiarch Deacis IX_

* * *

 **-I-**

 **(Frontier World of Remnant, Sanus - Beacon Academy - Imperial Billet "Primus")**

 _"...Love the Emperor,_ _for He is the salvation of mankind_ _...Obey His words,_ _for He will lead you into the light of the future_ _..."_

Truly, there was nothing quite like the sound of a congregation joined together in prayer.

So many differing voices bound as one in faith. Conveying traditional hymnals colored by home world, tradition, and in many cases barriers of language itself. Some boisterous in their exultation to the Throne, others sullen as though in mourning for a Lord nobly fallen.

All the while many more simply sung what was present in their hearts, exulting in togetherness. The same quality shared in the spirit, and mind of every loyal human being.

A love for the Blessed God-Emperor, Beloved by all, Master of Mankind and He on Terra who by his Immortal Spirit and Boundless Wisdom doth guide Humanity on its path towards salvation and inevitable supremacy.

He for whom all is owed. Be it fealty, respect, sanctity of spirit, one's very life...

 _"...Heed His wisdom,_ _for He will protect you from evil._ _..Whisper His prayers with devotion,_ _for they will save your soul..."_

In who's name these survivors of noble Cadia now gave thanks and praise, presided over by a harried wisp of a Corporal hailing from one of the few Cadian Armoured Regiments. Nominated to this vaunted task for time spent as a layman in service to his detachment's Priestly representative, a fine man by all accounts. Long since slain on the fields before Kasr Rantik, falling to artillery barrage during one of the earlier engagements of the war.

His successor dearly lacking in the sheer presence and oratory of a true preacher born to the craft. It mattered little, he knew the base words and verses well enough alongside their intended meaning, leading his fellows in passable service.

Such was enough, a necessity demanded.

And so the assembled gathering stood upon this humble boot trodden field despite the beaming sunlight. Serried ranks arrayed in rows before an altar made built of storage crates and meager offerings and idols provided by the generous faithful. Making ablation now with naught but the clothes on their backs, freshly laundered where possible, offering their passion to whom by His will they still drew breath...

 _'...Even if said air is tainted thick with heresy and corruption ...'_ Sister Novitiate Delphine simmered from her appointed place at the altar's side, hands clenched tight at her waist.

Her sacred wargear set aside in favor of shapeless robes of fresh linen and cloth procured from scavenged materials garnered from the honored dead, body cleansed and excoriated in ritual obeisance and penance. Hair, once the pure white offered in those final days as a show of purity and sacrifice now its usual dull chestnut, chopped and schooled into function if not form...such vanity.

Many of the soldiery couldn't help but take notice regardless, leering at her appreciatively when they thought themselves above her notice. Apparently the state of her appearance meaning much to those of lesser moral fiber. None of which mattered, not as she knelt attempting at the moment to smother righteous anger.

Seeking solace in her faith with a refrain drawn from the depths of memory...

Prideful days spent standing at the head of her sept's choir. The first among Novitiate's chosen to garb the Emperor's word in melody and song. Her proudest memory outside of glorious worship in the heat of battle that of the Canoness herself reaching for a handkerchief. Moved to silent tears at her solo rendition of the Devotions of Saint Katherine Verse XXXVII, _Rose Among the Faithful._..a joy despite the inherent hubris present of the emotion.

Delphine lived for her beliefs, as she had since first being selected for acceptance into the Seminary of a home world long forgotten. She'd exulted and killed in its defense as much as she now sang to honor it. All for faith...

 _'...A faith challenged, a faith reduced to gaudy spectacle where thou should be only those of true belief. A renewal banishing the Ghosts of lingering doubt cast by Cadia, reignited upon the grounds of this corrupted frontier...'_

By the holy Throne was she not failing in her efforts...Her humors unbalanced, face aching with the effort of holding back her contempt in the face of her own indignation. Almost faltering at a key bridge between verses...unforgivable.

Such blatant distraction during service in better times would've likely seen her committing harsh penance at the stern hands of the Matrons for several nights to come.

Yet the sight of the now painfully familiar plaid and black uniforms of Beacon's progeny present in this moment of faith, tainting it with their subtle corruption, even in this guise of _education_.

Throne that they were necessary she could understand if not wholly approve of, but for them to be tolerated here...! Why...there _she_ was, the blonde harlot from the Academy's dining hall even now, her cocksure features unmistakable.

Standing amid the front ranks of the congregation alongside her fellows in their assorted variety, a place of value and honor for heroes of the Emperor's devoted sons and daughters, humming... _humming! H_ er head bobbing in place, disastrously off key while gazing about the gathering in a heady mixture of curiosity and...and _boredom_!?

Would that she were garbed in her battle-plate, armed with bolter and blade in hand so that she might smite this abomination to the fairer sex for such blatant disregard.

Her and that oafish disgrace of a companion who deigned to consider himself a loyal Guardsman in the Emperor's Service, though at least he was able to comport himself with the proper approximation of respect for where he stood. Acting as though his eyes weren't wandering across her body and others, his mongrel mind a hotbed of spiritual lack in both duty and purpose.

A tool, rather than a man...or so she'd heard whispered among the other enlisted.

 _"...Honour His servants,_ _for they speak in His voice..."_

The Corporal turned preacher continued in a shaking baritone, his confidence shaken by the haste of this new duty being thrust upon him.

Though through the grace of He on Terra, swiftly rose to the occasion as the prayer reached its climax. Hands spread wide to encompass all as he knelt before the impromptu offerings, head bowed in obeisance to the one true Master of Mankind. Wide violet eyes darting aside to meet Delphine's own warily as if for approval, the Sister staring back dispassionately.

 _"_ _...Tremble before His majesty,_ _for we all walk in His immortal shadow..."_

She wouldn't judge this man for he had done his duty well if reluctantly, though she would of course judge his Superior. The woman responsible for this parody, one Commissar Catriona Catelin, standing opposite the Harlot and her little lackey alongside the Schola's Discipline Mistress, Goodwitch...Good Witch...

 _'...By the Throne, even her name is suspect...'_

And her apparent abilities even more so...whatever the fell mutant claimed in its half-maddened ramblings regarding this ' _Aura'._ Bleating and exulting the subject to the Cadian Commander upon their introduction to this strange new society and its strange new ways.

Unsatisfied with trusting the word of a Psyker alone, the Sister had done her own research into the nature of their potential foe. Garnering texts relating to the subject, despite the indignity of suffering the tittering gaze of scholar and student alike. Reading of acts performed by utterly unnatural grace and strength, this ability to bend fundamental forces to ones whim and defy great harm without the influence of technology. To influence the natural order and manipulate the very Soul itself...

 _'...How could such a thing be anything but sorcery!? How could it not be of the Warp!?...'_

Psykers all, how else could they claim such power drawn from...from the soul? Ridiculous, such blessings were not simply doled...but Catelin, she simply wouldn't listen. Trusting in a creature born to Warp taint and corruption over the word of a fellow Progena of the Schola Progenium...

And that was Delphine's own fault she realized with a dull ache of shame, her zeal alienating the woman...oh by the Emperor's Grace what would she offer but to have one of her Sister Superiors present upon this benighted world. One that could properly convey concern in quality befitting standard citizenry, or were these feelings simply still colored by the embarrassment of days passed.

Her devotion weighted, her judgement ill deserved...such doubts...

"In the Emperor's name. Praise be!"

" _Praise be_!"

The whole of the assembly bowed their heads in response, many hands leaping to display the sign of the Aquila or other lesser known symbols of devotion. Catachan running questing fingers along the crimson headbands they wore as if to remind themselves they were there, Cadians picking at kill-markings carved deep upon their flak armour, at signs of lethal injuries only just curbed by the material...each minor miracles in His service.

"Praise be..." Delphine murmured again under her breath, unable to keep herself from glaring any longer even as she moved to extinguish the still smoking bowels of cheap incense. Reverently closing the minuscule dog eared copy of the Lectitio Divinitatus provided so generously by one of the Krieg Grenadiers for this very purpose...outdated, simple, and yet perhaps the most precious thing they called their own.

 _'...Such sacrifice, and all to make the show that much more authentic for these Hunters of Remnant...'_

Sister Superior Mariana would never have stomached entertaining such. Sitting around in tents waiting for the so-called Kingdoms of this world to realize the truth of what was clearly in front of them. All while a tear in the fabric of reality consumed all in its wake, both Daemon's and Heretics alike threatening its sanctity by their very presence.

She would have challenged the upstart youth thinking to command the forces of the Imperium's armies, and no doubt would have...

 _'...But would she? Truly...?'_ Delphine didn't know, for who was she to judge the mind of a veteran Martyr of the Sisterhood?

She was but a Novitiate, thrust into armor before her appointed time and expected to fight in the War to end all wars. Expected to die in faithful defiance on the fields of Cadia, not...not this! Was the Commissar correct in this mad scheme of hers? Or was she a fool wasting precious moments in which to act?

Despite fervent prayers begging for guidance, for a sign of what she must do in His name, He on Terra remained ever conspicuously silent. What was His plan for Remnant in the midst of such madness?

Were she and the other Imperials meant to enlighten an entire world in the God Emperor's teachings? One firmly enmeshed in its ways to the point that Souls were utilized as weapons and autonomous technologies comprised entire armies? Was the Psyker right? Was she wrong, and how might she learn?

By His light she was a Battle Sister, not a Teacher! Familiar in the contents and context of sacred verse and dogma, not equipped in the methods by which to explain it to the unknowing and the doubtful.

In her world, such things were obvious and indelible. All knew of the God Emperor...even the heretics that would spit and deny its supremacy knew it, but not here on Remnant. Here He upon Terra was a stranger, and that in itself shook her to her core more than she would have ever dared admit...even to herself.

"And let such sentiments be recognized, never to be forgotten! Practice them in daily life, and with them know you serve his blessed purpose by deeds and valor both!"

The priest that was far from a priest rose to his feet unsteadily, an eye cast about his congregation though lingering tellingly upon the Commissar who was subtly offering her bidding to continue.

"Though we might tread upon vales uncertain, far from home and conflicts left unfinished. Know that here and now do all of us stand together not only as Defenders of Imperium but as His light! A beacon reaching ever outwards, eager to embrace a world left far too long in the darkness cast by ignorance. To stand in its defense in the face of those that would see it fall to ruin!"

Fine words the Sister supposed, _her_ words.

"My thanks, Corporal Vester, for such a fine sermon to close this humble gathering..."

The Commissar made a great show of nodding to the shaking Trooper from beneath the brim of her cap. Her words crisp and clear over the combined muttering and jockeying of the Host. Striding out to the head of the throng with an officer's assurance upon svelte shoulders bolstered by her now mended greatcoat. Looking every inch the leader of this band of vagabonds and waif's, for what such was worth.

"...And for such a fine service aided by yourself and many others. Truly today, we have brought the Emperor's words to this Remnant. May we all strive to do them justice in the daily trials ahead of us."

Some of the more boisterous Regimental representatives cheered, breaking decorum and slipping the stoic bonds of ceremony that the temple service had confined them in. Others merely making their understanding clear, while others...others must've felt as Delphine herself did. Their attentions pulled from the speech by the clear presence of outsiders in their midst. Strangely dressed individuals, children really, blissfully unaware.

Various Troopers of several worlds noting such intruders with mixed reactions, some seeming curious, others clearly in disapproval...the latter swiftly noted by the Sister of Battle, faces committed to memory.

"And have no doubt there will be trials ahead, Soldiers of the Imperium, you all know this to be true!" The Commissar continued, a hand raised to point eastward towards the vortex of corruption all knew to be present, if hardly remarked upon. "I need not explain what one merely must look to the sky to understand! And as soldiers of the Imperium, as the Hammer of the Emperor wielded forever in his Service, we of the Imperial Guard will rise to meet them in whatever form they may take! Be it the Creatures of Grimm we faced upon our arrival, or foes more familiar and insidious...!"

...Such as the Heretics safely stowed aboard the Atlas fool's ships, those insidious few Catelin seemed almost content to leave detained in efforts to appease her new 'allies'.

"...and yet we needn't stand alone! For as much as I will espouse the courage and honor of any soul who stands before me today, all of you heroes of Cadia. We must face facts in that we are but few. Cut adrift and in need of allies, allies who have already spent of themselves to aid up upon our arrival. Proving their valor...!"

...And then proceeding to herd the faithful all into pasture like cattle, disarmed and surrounded. A sentiment many in the crowd appeared to share, though an ingrained fear of any soul wearing the black coat and red sash of the Commissariat schooling their tongues.

One had to wonder if Catelin knew quite how fortunate she was to hold such advantage, and for how much longer it would continue to serve her so fastidiously?

"...might have noticed that some of these brave men and women, these Huntsmen and Huntresses, stand with us this day. A fact some might approve of, some...less so." Delphine blinked, feeling the weight of the other woman's scorn as keenly as a knife blade against her throat in that briefest instant before she was speaking again. "Know I understand such thoughts, I understand well such doubts and feel your concerns keenly. Yet I would also understand that we cannot be expected to work together, to find victory, without something to bridge the walls of distrust built between us!"

Could Delphine find it within herself to do as such? While foolish in some ways, the Commissar had proven herself wholly capable, hardworking, an example of her Rank if youthful and untested...just as the Sister herself was...

"To act as _His_ light, we ourselves must stand revealed! To dispel fear, we must be known!"

More cheers, accompanied by far more mutterings of dissent. Confused voices raising concerns, valid ones at that.

 _What of the source of the Hunter's strange powers, and can it be trusted? If they were to be trusted then where was reciprocation, where were their weapons so that they might defend themselves? Who would take command of them in this new...Crusade?_

 _A telling word...was that indeed what was happening here? Was this merely prelude, this farce, this game...could it truly have such purpose?_

 _Or was it but folly? Was she even fit to tell the difference? Her judgement quite clearly clouded in days passed..._

Delphine shook off her discomfort and forced herself to meet young Catelin's gaze, gauging her resolve compared to that of other great figures she' _d born witness too._

 _Martyred stares of defiance found in her more experienced Sisters and her Canoness, women who had seen death spilling from the void in its cackling tides and had stood resolute..._

 _Wrathful decrees sung silently in the noble visages of the Emperor's Black Templars, their Marshall Amalrich broadcasting a planetwide homily across Cadia's vox arrays, decrying the traitor, damning the heretical and unclean in service to His Imperium..._

 _Stern faced Astra Militarum Generals and Heralds of forces beyond counting drawn from dozens of worlds, scars written across faces carved in service..._

Catriona's features were that of scared if determined child, taking a risk...a rather grievous one at that.

She knew not what the answers were, with no time to consult non-existent augurs and few souls from which to seek reliable counsel. Any hint of weakness would be swiftly sniffed out and leapt upon, and her sash however visible and proud would be poor shield against those who had given up hope and fallen into despair.

Long were the tales of desperate weak-willed soldiery falling upon their Commanders, long and with far from kind ends...

The woman was being forced to act without choice or will of her own, that much was clear, and yet she wasn't hesitating. Surely there must be doubts niggling at her insides. Trepidation cast by a soul ill prepared, though Delphine thankfully saw none on display now as she all but announced her new agenda. This Remnant Crusade...

And yet still she found to her own consternation admired that resolve, as much as she found herself simmering with an envy impossible to purge.

"O' Master of Mankind, grant your servant clarity in this time beset by doubt." She intoned softly under her lips as the Commissar went on, espousing her Witch of a comrade, the servants of the Kingdoms, this whole Throne-Cursed world. "Offer her guidance by which to better interpret your divine intention."

Kneeling to wash the ashes and clouded oils from the wide brimmed basin, she waited with eyes shut and soul opened to the best of her ability. Waiting for a sign, some indication that she was on the right path, or at the very least this woman's was the wrong one.

Seconds passed, a full minute, and yet despite the trembling in her heart and the base need of her plea there was no answer. No beam of radiance to guide her sight, no monstrous foe revealed to throw herself against, nothing. Absolutely...

* * *

 **-II-**

"...nothing like it. I mean it truly is remarkable once you see this sort of thing for yourself. Isn't it?" Blake wondered aloud in an awed tone that almost seemed disbelieving, looking about at the rapidly dispersing crowd moving about in scattered if well ordered chaos...

' _Chaos_ ', no that word didn't seem right to describe something like this. Or anything else, the words tasting somehow sour in her thoughts...

The Imperials having been released at the end of the afternoon service by the Commissar's nodding behest and Corporal Vester's hearty decree to return to their duties refreshed. The final sermon calling of course for unity and vigilance both. Imploring the listeners, those brave missionaries, to stand together in this time of great uncertainty against the unknown and to keep the 'Light of Him on Terra' close in heart and deed.

Observing with interest as just about every guardsmen and women moved to return their varied tasks with a respectful reverence or spoke openly as they sought out friends and comrades, though none of either forgot to present the crude figurine presiding over them all with some symbol of regard.

Many performing gestures similar to that she had seen made during the convocation, others whispering short benedictions of devotion or leaving small offerings of crudely crafted works or votive totems as they went.

A dozen variations presented in a dozen differing tongues. Each with their own cultural cues and flares of course, but all presented with a common purpose in mind in a manner she'd not have expected.

"Hmm?" Yang piped up, eyes narrowed as she flipped through one of the proffered grubby prayer pamphlets. Silently mouthing some of the prayers under her breath, stumbling here and their over the more flowery rhetoric that didn't translate. "What is, Blakey?"

"This...all of this! It's amazing, isn't it?" She gestured around, her teammate following her motions towards the assembly while their Imperial minder watched from the side with interest, pretending poorly like he wasn't listening intently in on the conversation. "So many people from so many cultures, whole worlds apart from one another, and yet they can come together and share something so...so..."

She didn't really have a word fit for it, none she felt comfortable voicing at any rate. So she trailed off leaving her notion unfinished, very much aware of her partner's attention upon her.

 _'A bunch of warmongering zealots, or that's what I assumed...'_ She thought to herself with a note of sardonic recrimination, watching even as she did so two Troopers in wildly different uniforms conversing amicably among themselves, ' _...and yet they pulled together all those cultures, gave them purpose.'_

Yang seemed to understand regardless, offering her a friendly jab to the shoulder and a wry smile while Ruby and Weiss bounced question after question Lux's way. The Trooper doing his best to appease them, though his violet eyes never strayed far from her, she noted. Seemingly intrigued or perhaps worried by her interest.

 _'...With good reason of course, seeing as I'm also quite curious as to what did they had to do to achieve that sort of unity...?'_

The lengthy service finally concluded, Team _RWBY_ had elected to remain behind in the Temple Yard at least a few minutes more and allow the camp to settle. Standing along with the majority of visiting Beacon and assorted Transfer students milling about in the wake of the rapidly diminishing congregation. Many of whom seemingly bereft and out of place after witnessing such a display, not all having the luxury of their own tour guide on hand provided by their hosts in the smirking profile of a particularly rakish Cadian.

Those would come later as soon as the selected Guardsmen came off shift.

For the time being those students however were being carefully monitored all the same by both the Imperial's and the watchful eye of Professor Goodwitch even as she and the Commissar conversed amongst themselves. The pair conspiring, as surprising as it was to see. Blake always having gotten the impression the Professor cared little for their extra-terrestrial visitors.

But it seemed things had changed, and drastically at that judging from the civility in both women's postures. And Professor Goodwitch had been the one to promote this little outing after all, further deepening suspicions of her collusion.

That much was obvious to the young Faunus. As was the realization that this imposed listlessness for her guests too was perhaps another intentional display on behalf of the Commissar, Blake herself used to seeing such techniques employed in her life.

Oftentimes by people she admired as sorry as it was to admit, many of whom some -of which she included herself- might never suspect capable of such manipulations. Her own Father might have even approved of Catelin's simple ploy back in Menagerie, showcasing the stark difference in the Guard's cool regimental efficiency on the one hand while in it's own quiet way encouraging inquiry with the other.

What's more it seemed to be working. Quite a few students were murmuring uncomfortably to one another of course, unnerved or wary, but others still shot furtive glances at the makeshift altar and it's humming Tender with an air of curiosity. Some of whom would dare approach the man later on, ask questions of his words and receive answers in turn, and those souls would leave this place and spread those answers around naturally as such things always did on the winds of eager gossip in an enclosed setting like Beacon.

It was simple to instruct others as one might in a classroom, rattle off information and hope some of it sticks, but long experience had taught her that most eager listeners were always those that sought out the information for themselves.

They would be those most willing to act, and those most receptive to the message conveyed, eager to learn more...

"Such is the greatest strength of the Imperium, bound together and guided to purpose by the Emperor's hand." Lux spoke up cheerily. The Faunus having almost forgotten the Imperial Guardsman amidst the ruckus, the brindle-haired man having been uncharacteristically silent these last few minutes as though contemplating how to proceed. "Praise be."

"R-Right. I guess so."

A rather awkward atmosphere truth be told, as it was clear Weiss was practically begging for to ask her questions yet held back by this little thing called pride. Contenting herself with merely glowering sourly at other groups being led away on their own particular paths through this Camp Primus.

An interesting enough place in itself if she were to be fair. Consisting of rows upon rows of prefabricated Atlas tents, the sort of functionally effective gear often handed out in the wake of disasters or Grimm attacks, though many had been subtly altered from their usual drab grey and white appearance.

Most having fallen under the sewer's needle or painter's brush at one point or another, victims of bored Guardsmen and women without an enemy to consume their time. Now proudly displaying various nonstandard adornments from regimental standards to crude depictions of that double headed eagle sigil the Imperials were so fond of, the Aquila, or of other symbols she'd seen during the impromptu sermon.

Of course for all the individuality on display it was still a military installation first and foremost.

A fact Lux didn't even bother attempting to hide as he began showing Team RWBY about the Camp, gesticulating animatedly with Yang as they went as the Heiress pestered for more and more detail by the second. Blake busing herself with the sights, remembering similar if far different circumstances during her time among the White Fang's higher ranks.

The raised structures spaced along exacting measurements in pre-thought patterns that seemed inane, but upon closer inspection -from a more militaristic standpoint- actually revealed themselves as shockingly efficient. Providing a basic layout in relation to a series of entrenched strongpoints that highlighted critical structures such as the makeshift infirmary, what passed for a Quartermaster, and of course the communal Mess area.

All while the layout itself provided plentiful cover to an inwardly defending force while exposing and funneling any who might think to attack into wide avenues.

It was a site built for practicality, by those clearly used to expecting danger at any possible moment, or in the least being prepared for any that might come. Blake suspecting that the rather obvious presence of armed Atlesians patrolling at the outermost edges of the camp, fidgety troopers just visible enough to be seen if not interfere, may have had something to do with that line of thought.

 _'Truth be told, if the Guard managed to get their hands on some weapons, coupled with even a few of those strange machines...'_

Amber eyes darted toward the chugging motor pool marked off with hazard tape where sat a trio of strange box-like vehicles revving themselves to life on wide steel tracks and belching foul smelling smoke from exhaust vents. The aesthetics of Remnant's often eccentric designs utterly absent in their utilitarian make and drab color palette.

Not that Ruby cared overmuch, practically...no, _actually_ drooling as her Semblance driven speed sent her zipping across the field. Side-swiping and ducking passed alarmed Guardsmen and women as she went, Yang and our guide struggling to keep up and apologize profusely to any and all nearby, shouting at the energetic teenager to slow down.

Things Lux referred to the squat boxes as 'Chimera Armoured Personnel Transports', meant to act as conveyance across a hostile battlefield. Weiss merely commenting how they appeared rather slow in comparison to Atlas' own similar vehicles, a fact that made had the young Imperial's face souring slightly.

"And what if they were surrounded? By the Grimm for instance, what then?"

"That's what the guns are for, Miss Schnee. And the Guardsmen."

Meanwhile the Leman Russ Battle Tank seemed more like some mad soul had taken it upon themselves to take the largest gun they could find and grant it mobility.

"Few more beautiful sights on the field then watching a line of these lovelies rolling up for a shot at the foe. Here's prayin' Gundy can get them back into something approaching proper shape. Give your beasties something harder to sink their jaws into, eh?"

That rakish grin reappeared in full measure as the boy nodded towards a spindly sour looking woman dressed in similar drab fatigues as the Cadian himself bore if with the addition of a voluminous cowl as red as Ruby's mantle. His...well 'acquaintance', given she didn't seem too friendly, currently struggling to clamber her way down from the...'tank'?

The Faunus frowned at the word, finding the simplistic title remarkably underwhelming for such an aggressive creation of steel and artifice. Hardly doing the sight or the young soldier's gleaming eyes justice. "Paladin" or "Bullhead" were the sorts of names Remnant employed, granting a sense of gravitas to their intended purpose, though she supposed they did have their own vastly impressive version of a ' _Knight_ ', but even so...

 _'...Just what was a 'Leman Russ' supposed to be? To inspire? Some kind of animal...?'_

"She's _sooooo_ _beeeeeautiful!"_ Ruby breathed in a long drawn out whine of longing, silvery eyes as wide as saucers. "One...two... _three_ individual gunnery positions on top of the the main armament and is that...!?... _Woooooah,_ the caliber we're talking, that darling's gotta be at least...!"

"I-I beg your humble pardon, Miss! Do please respect this machine's humble boundaries given your inquiries...!"

Unfortunately that merely attracted the young teenager's attention as she zipped forth like a bullet from _crescent Rose._ The harried looking mechanic suddenly caught between the hull of the very tank she'd been ministering to and a rather rabid Rose. Almost buckling under the sheer volume of sudden questions but holding together valiantly under the pressure.

"And _sooooo_ big...! How fast can she go overland on those treads, talking max speed? Oh and what does she use for fuel? Not Dust I bet, explains the smell...and that armour thickness, _ummm_...treated steel...?"

"W-Why er...why no. Rather a synthetic alloy that we refer to as 'Plasteel'. Bearing a workable consistency as the name suggests with standard plastics though possessing a tensile strength akin to forged steel though with far fewer of the manufacturing hurdles." This Gundy appeared rather taken aback, the lone eyebrow she still possessed rising ever higher. "This...* _ahem_ *! This particular example, the ' _Authority of Creed',_ being of the Mars-Pattern, is comprised of multiple riveted sections of the material, which in turn factors into the overall...!"

Blake swiftly tuned out the tech-jargon, understanding little aside from the specifics and even those left her ears aching as it swiftly devolved into less informative lesson and more obsessive fan-ship over the plastic weapon of war.

"Frak, if little Rosie's acting like that round' a Russ, she's gonna pop off like a Throne-damned bolt shell once she lays eyes on the _Pillar."_ Lux said to no one in particular and with little explanation to what this ' _Pillar_ ' might be. Backing away to what he judged as a safe distance with a cheery half salute half flamboyant wave aimed at the Adept. Seemingly heedless of the sharp glare he earned at the hands of a glinting -and somewhat off putting- mechanical eye whirring absently in her left socket. "Praise be, knew she could get riled, but still...she always like that?"

"Only when she sees a fancy weapon or two, and with something this big..." Yang shot a lewd glance her way, motioning towards the sizable mounted gun atop the vehicle's chassis. Weiss rolling her eyes at the juvenile display between her teammates.

Rather unfortunate timing too, as it gave the redhead a chance to snatch at one of her arms when her partner wasn't looking. The startled Heiress swiftly finding herself caught as unwilling expert in the middle of something of a debate between the two gear-heads on the rather divisive subject of Dust as a fuel source in comparison to something called ' _Promethium_ '.

" _Ooh_ ouch, this might be awhile." Yang winced with no small amount of mirth at the Ice Queen's wriggling plight, rounding on their Imperial Minder with a fresh spring in her step. "Ruby's got that stubborn stomp of hers going, oh the horror, the _horror_." She grinned impishly, implying quite the opposite. "Weird friends you've got. My sympathies.

"Hmm? I do seem to attract the weird and eccentric, don't I?" He shrugged scratching at flak shoulder pads ticked with markings, Blake wondering why he and the others insisted on lugging their equipment around at all times. Hardly the flashier load outs of the Huntsmen and Huntresses, built for comfort as much as mobility with Aura in mind...Aura, to live and fight without... "It's a blessing, or a curse. Not quite sure which just yet."

"Guess it explains why Yang of all people stumbled across you in the woods." The Faunus let her lip curl in the face of her partner's withering glare, a look that promptly vanished alongside much of the easy atmosphere with a sharp _*AHEM*._ Lux glancing over his shoulder confused, eyes widening with sudden terror in the face of his Commissar's steady approach.

Yet it was also strange, Blake had seen the young woman marching about the school plenty of times in the tenuous few weeks since the _Cataclysm..._ a name she couldn't remember ever giving the storm above the Emerald Forest a name, had spun itself into being out of nowhere and plunged the whole of Remnant into turmoil.

Often accompanied by Teachers, her own men, a bumbling Lux acting as some kind of reluctant manservant/secretary, or more often than not that horrid floating skull of hers hovering even now at her shoulder. But this was the first time she'd come to stand anywhere properly close to Catriona Catelin, perhaps the first time she'd ever fallen under her notice.

And to her own surprise she found she was taller than the Imperial Leader. Not by much, an inch at most, but she was...only it didn't feel anything like it. Her stance, bearing, all of it designed to diminish while she herself was exalted to an almost towering status that cast even a potent youth like Lux into her shadow.

A psychological effect, but a potent one...and up close despite the dark coat and stern frown, it was made all the more telling because she could see the human in her.

Cold alabaster skin much like her own seemingly bereft of sunlight from time indoors, dark hair of a similar shade well kept but hastily cut, an individual pushed to her limits, pushing further still. She could see it, because she'd lived it hunting a man like Torchwick. Catriona was tired, and Blake bore witness, despite knowing full well she shouldn't.

But then those violet eyes reasserted the illusion, the ones that almost possessed an eerie glow to them that was shared by most of the Cadians. Only where Lux's were only somewhat off putting, the officer's cut to the core, even with the dark circles thick underneath them.

"Commissar!" Lux leapt to snapping salute, Yang bless her following in imitative if far sloppier reflex that might have actually physically pained her friend for the bleak expression on his face. "Ma'am!"

"At ease, Guardsman. Mamzel Xiao Long, Mamzel Belladonna." Catelin replied levelly, acknowledging both salute and attempted salute with a courteous nod to each. Blake wondering when the woman had found the time to bother remembering her name, though given _RWBY_ had been one of those to respond to the situation in the forest and render aid she supposed she oughtn't be so shocked...merely unsettled she warranted remembering at all. "Enjoying your tour so far? My Adjutant has proven proper host, I trust?"

Her eyes drifted towards the scene playing itself out mere yards away around the motorpool, narrowing the slightest margin in concern. Yang quick on the defense and distraction, all smiles and thumbs up much to Lux's fervent relief.

"Oh definitely, love what you guys have done with the place. Soldier boy here was just going over the Lemon Rusts, wasn't he? Uh...Luxy?" Said 'Soldier Boy' currently trying not to look like he was attempting to swallow his own tongue merely nodding, head tilted skyward. "A-Anyway, can't thank you all enough for the sermon earlier, really um...really something! Right, Blakey?"

"R-Right!" Blast it, why did she have to drag her into this!? The Commissar's stare falling squarely on her, and..and lingering on her bow, ore was it just coincidence, were her ears twitching? "It was...different, and rather beautiful. I've never seen anything quite like it."

A truth for the most part, most ceremonies to the twin gods kept rather subdued, at least in those places she'd traveled. Then there had been some amidst the White Fang had given praise to old heroes and martyrs of the movement or to the overarching cause of equality itself...or they once had, not so much these days and never quite to such deific extremes as the Imperials and their 'Emperor'.

"I found it rather unifying actually, if a touch bit heavy handed." She hadn't expected the last part to slip out, certainly hadn't meant it too and instantly regretted the mistake when she noted their escorts paling features.

Only she needn't have worried, much to her own amazement...

"Did you think so?"

Blake found herself blinking at the surprising level of warmth laden throughout the response, Lux seemingly caught off guard as well despite his sudden bout of coughing. Yang's mouth going slack for her part, though it was certainly more appropriate than the giggling she'd shown seconds earlier.

"Admittedly, many fresh to the Creed describe it as such, I've been told. Though one might imagine Sister Delphine would find fault with the description."

She'd been expecting a few responses, the smallest inkling of a smile hadn't been one of them. The expression itself melting the cold exterior the Faunus had found herself subconsciously building around the woman, if not for fair reason. Remarkably enough it was...refreshing? Yes, that was a fair word for it.

"I worked long with Corporal Vester to select passages that would hopefully have been taken somewhat less aggressively." The smile vanished, though the warmth remained against expectation. Catelin's demeanor taking on an almost pensive air, fingers picking at the sash about her waist in what could only have been a nervous tick...or was it all for show? Blake couldn't entirely be certain. "Hmm, I'll admit after hearing them stated aloud, I might have been somewhat optimistic. My error, of course. Perhaps I should have reached out to Madam Goodwitch for an outside perspective."

"Good idea, I...I wouldn't be opposed to helping either." _RWBY's_ Ninjette said, eyes widening at the ease of her own reply. "If...If that's alright?"

In all honesty not at all expecting the notion, another slip of the tongue...or had it been? Had guilt at her earlier words not forced an empathetic attempt at reconciling with the Imperial Officer, spurred on by the admission of failure? Had the other woman planned this, already showing a modicum of startled approval carefully measured...or was it?

Was this just paranoia born from a life lived among dissemblers and -though it pained her to admit it- politicians out to promote an agenda. Perhaps her own activism coloring honest acceptance? She didn't have a clue, but she was now holding a handheld copy of a small booklet labeled the _Lectitio Divinitatus_ that the Commissar had relieved from her coat pocket.

Already skimming through a few lines of the squared off paragraphs and verse with a practiced literary appreciation, noting the handwritten notes squeezed into in what few spaces lay free of text, likely written examinations or reflections penned in Catelin's own hand. The Commissar speaking aloud, though Blake was already drifting off into her own little world, consisting of naught but her imagination and the flowing tapestry before her.

"...would appreciate any feedback, provided you have the time in between your own studies of course. Now then, I will be needing to steal away your escort for but a brief interval, and Mamzel Xiao Long, if there are no objections?"

"Er-uh...Sure, yeah whatever ya need. But what would you need me fo...!?"

"Splendid, follow me, if you would."

And then there she went, rounding on her heels and marching away. Lux and Yang struggling to keep up, the Imperial leaning in to whisper in her partner's ear as she went.

"When someone bearing the sash says follow. Ya don't object, Blondie. Ya don't question." He hissed vehemently, Yang's biting retort as lost to the Faunus as she was in a tale of Saint Sabbat Beati and her martyrdom on the fields of a world called Harkalon. Nine wounds to bring her down, almost sickeningly descriptive of each...and all this after she'd learned a small tad of who Leman Russ had been, and exactly why they'd named a bloody tank after him. "Instead ya just stand up straight, clench, and say how..."

* * *

 **-III-**

"...glad I am that you deigned accept my meager invitation, my Lady and...Sir."

Pyrrha couldn't help but notice the momentary strain pulling at the so-introduced Questor Imperialis' welcoming smile at the conclusion of her introduction. One that had already stretched a fair five minutes by her reckoning, and had included Lady Vivian Stahl's piercing eyes drifting over the squirming Huntsman-in-training at her side like one might a spot of dirt left on a windowpane.

The sort that simply wouldn't vanish no matter how hard one scrubbed.

Still, the Imperial covered it well enough with a sweeping bow about her modest tent. 'Modest' of course meaning the dwelling was larger than the room housing the entirety of Team JNPR and then some.

A space clearly devoted to one person and one person only, containing a rather spacious bed the Huntress still wasn't quite clear on how their rather eccentric host had acquired. Situated as it was alongside a sitting room table, plush chairs, and a hearty dresser and several trunks laden with unknown contents.

Jaune staring quite openly at a rack propped up next to the bed, laden with a the thick verdant green plate and tanned fabric of an armoured body glove. An emblem comprising that of a six-limbed reptilian creature, coiled beneath a swooping eagle proudly displayed in gold leaf across the chest along with a few other subtle marks she took to mean as some sort of heraldry.

All in all she found it rather cramped actually, to evoke some sense of home Pyrrha had concluded. A living quarters conveying the inkling of one always on the move at a moment's notice. She herself was quite familiar with such things, rarely ever at Sanctum proper, always on the road for some photo op or tournament nicety. Never settling...

"My deepest sorrows for the startling lack of decorum, though provided our current surroundings I felt it prudent to skip some of the more lengthy introductions usually required of me." Vivian apologized profusely, with a vehemence that took the Mistralian entirely off guard.

"Oh it's...It's quite alright." Pyrrha waved a frantic hand, realizing how she looked and resolving to adopt a more composed posture. The sort of look she used for her television interviews. Calm, professional, wholly fake... "Do what makes you feel comfortable. We'd hate to be a burden, wouldn't we, Jaune?"

"Er...yeah, I-I mean, no I...we wouldn't mind." Her partner conveyed, a hand moving to rustle his blonde hair until he seemingly thought better of it.

"Truly? Then I would of course proceed with a listing of my rather distinguished lineage. An account of my holdings, followed perhaps by a spot of pleasantry as tradition doth demand. Fear not, should only extend a paltry...hmm, two hours give or take. Depending if I decide whether or not to be appropriately thorough."

One second...Five seconds...Ten passing before the pair sitting before her must've let the shock sink in enough to show. Rather admirable, especially given what they'd just heard. An expression that only deepened as Stahl doubled forward with an audible sigh of relief.

"Oh thank the Throne! I was really quite worried you were serious for a moment, my lady!"

"S-So a joke then?" Pyrrha asked, trying her best to laugh along to what must've been some kind of setup. Something humorous to break the cultural wall.

The sound exiting her throat as a hollow wheeze, smothered by misunderstanding upon noticing the other woman's stupefaction.

"That _was_ meant as a joke, wasn't it?"

"Oh not at all, such is in fact general decorum. Accepted as proper within the halls and courts of most knightly houses as the Chivalric Code of conduct demands." She waved away the concern blithely, a scoff played up for effect. "Such are the strictures which bind those that would stride upon the field of battle as something nary short of divinity."

'Divinity'?" Jaune tasted the word, trying not to look skeptical. "You mean 'like a god' right, as in the whole 'smiting' and all ' _whoosh boom bwaah'!"_ He waved his hand as though in training with _Crocaea_ _Mors,_ Pyrrha quite familiar with such antics. Stahl evidently less so, the easy smile vanishing as swiftly as though the Huntsman had struck it from her face with his imaginary blade. "L-Like that?"

" _Hmph_ , what else would you call the act of utilizing one of mankind's greatest weapons to destroy those that might stand as enemy of the Emperor?" Vivian demanded haughtily, leaning back in her chair as if it were a throne. Born to such a stance. "To wield lightning in one's hand, to sally forth watching those born lesser fall beneath your tread?"

Plenty of things by a Huntresses' reckoning, responsibility and duty for starters. Pyrrha could respect the woman's obvious zeal for her craft. Though such things as claiming 'divinity' smacked of hubris at the very least, and something far too similar to how that Sister Delphine woman had behaved in the Mess hall days earlier at worst.

She'd seen glimpses of Stahl's titanic machine at it's work during the rescue operation in the Emerald Forest, an impressive weapon to be sure. Though damaged, scarred, and all too mortal.

"Aside from such...'expressions' of course, accurate as they might be. Imagine the ceremony we attended earlier, only such is woven into almost every facet of courtly life. Conversation between peers, knightly gatherings, social strata...forgive me if I would rather dispense of such for the moment. I'd be most grateful for the opportunity, especially in the company of such an exalted personage as yourself."

"E-Exalted?

"Why, of course. From what I gather you are something of a celebrity upon this World despite your youth. To garner such renown, all quite impressive. The stories I've heard from your fellows..."

"All exaggerated, I assure you. It was only a few small tournaments." She said swiftly in reply, feeling the familiar ache of annoyance. The familiar modest mask of expectation taking hold, to be the Champion, and not...well, herself. "Really, I haven't actually done anything worthy of praise, not yet at least. It's why I'm here, at Beacon." That and to avoid exactly this, the interviews, the glamour...

"You gotta admit though, winding up on the front of Pumpkin Pete's. That's pretty big." Jaune added wistfully, seeking more to include himself in the conversation than anything else. Better than standing awkwardly off to the side, though she wondered if he wouldn't have been more comfortable there judging from the glower he received. "It's...It's a good cereal, big name." He finished awkwardly, twiddling thumbs behind his back.

"Though it really is too much sugar, not very healthy at all." She supplied, though. Giving him a warm smile.

" _Hmm_ , is it now?" She said with the air of one that had no idea what 'cereal' was, and hardly cared to know. Eager to change the subject, which Pyrrha was all for at least until the woman opened her mouth. "Still I must remark its interesting you chose to bring the Beta-Male with you after all?"

Vivian arched an eyebrow, staring thoughtfully at the proffered hand with a slight frown tugging at full lips. Emerald gaze traveling up the length of his sleeves, picking out the meager hints of muscle in regards to the entire piece, discerning in a way that made Remnant's blonde knight squirm uncomfortably in place feeling somewhat...exposed.

"Certainly a...curious choice in consort, I must say. Not what I would have expected for a Champion. Though if that is to your preference, who am I to judge? If I'd known you were hence spoken for..."

" _Erm_...Beta-what now?" He lingered on that, not entirely sure he'd heard right. If anything still caught up on the word 'consort' and why it had left Pyrrha blushing red as a ripe tomato. Sweat beading her brow as all the usual poise and assured grace he'd come to expect from his partner seemed to flee before his eyes.

"I-I think you have the wrong idea, Miss Stahl." The Huntress stammered, trying to collect herself as her thoughts wove in cartwheels, trying to be proper, trying to be correct about what was happening...and failing. "Jaune is not my...my consort! He's my...!"

"Ah, then is he supposed to be a footman of some sort? A Squire? Pardon, my Lady, I'm not yet up to date on the nature of this caste of Huntsman and Huntress."

She cocked a glance towards Jaune, still standing off to the side rather awkwardly, shuffling his feet as though wondering whether or not he'd simply forgotten to offer a chair.

"At a glance it's not so different from my own position in Court, and yet so many subtle differences that it's proving difficult to acclimatize. I would have him prepare refreshment in that case, fetch your Mistress and I some wine won't you? I've a bottle in the trunk beside the tent flap. Well, hop to it!"

"No, Jaune you don't have to! Really, I'm...!?"

"Right! Right, no prob! I've got it!"

Bless his soul, Jaune jumped to the task with the same eager haste to which he responded to all figures in authority barking orders at him. Almost falling flat on his face along the way. A a pair of glasses clutched awkwardly in one hand and a fluted bottle of something that looked disturbingly like ripened blood. Pyrrha imagining she could actually smell through the wax stopper.

Still, as always he managed to surprise her. Deftly cracking the seal with only a moment's hesitation before pouring a generous measure unbidden into the pleasantly shocked Imperial's glass without nary a spill. Pyrrha's receiving a polite modicum in contrast though the difference seemingly went unnoticed, by her especially.

"It's fine. Between Mom, Dad, and seven sisters, somehow I always ended up being the one setting the table for the holidays. And pretty much every other day, I guess." He shrugged sheepishly, noticing the Lady Stahl's renewed attention and shrinking back until he hovered over his partner's shoulder. A position she was shocked to find she rather enjoyed. "Anything else I can grab for you, my...my Ladies?" He said the title as a question, uncertainty writ across his features.

To be fair, Pyrrha could hardly blame him as she sampled the vintage, the taste surprisingly similar to some Mistrali vintners she'd sampled sparingly at victory galas. Her counterpart dressed in straining a Beacon Academy button up and tight fitting slacks, once more a mystery in exactly where and how she'd obtained such things.

Vivian Stahl even more physically intimidating up close than she'd been standing in a ring with groaning bodies laid low at her feet. And not just in size though she easily towered over even Jaune and certainly Pyrrha herself when standing, but in raw appeal.

Wholly natural, but utterly unnatural all at once. Just about every aspect subtly tweaked, from the raw tone of muscle to the delicate slope of her cheekbones. They had to be. No one could be quite _that_ symmetrical, so outwardly flawless. Well, suffice it to say the overall effect was alluring, if subtly disconcerting all at once. Easy to see how she'd overcome a quartet of students who'd made the mistake of underestimating her.

"No, no that will be quite all." She arched an impeccably trimmed brow, offering a single curt nod of recognition as a victory for the Huntsman in and of itself. Dismissing the young Arc before looking back to her true guest. "You were saying, Lady Pyrrha?"

"O-Oh? Yes!" She nodded perhaps a bit too quickly, hands playing at the edges of her skirt. The mask she wore cracking ever so slightly, not out of nerves but pride. "You see, Jaune isn't my servant. He's my partner on our team, our Leader in fact."

"Your...Leader, the one you look to to carry you through conflict? Against those Grimm beastlings?" Her friend puffed his chest out proudly, grinning that grin she'd grown to...to respect, right...respect. Or so she told herself, to keep up the pretense. She respected Jaune, of course she did... "But... _How_?"

"E-Excuse me?" She stammered back, off put by the flagrant disbelief in the other woman's tone. "I...I don't...?"

"O-Oh forgive me for prying, but how is it possible that _he_ commands one such as yourself, a Champion of your caste? Impressive, a skilled warrior by your own and other's accounts. While this one is...is so...!?" She motioned towards Jaune who seemed to be doing his best to shrink down with wine carafe in hand, eyeing the dark liquid churning within. Seemingly expecting Pyrrha to come to her own conclusion.

A conclusion one Pyrrha Nikos wasn't at all fond of entertaining, green eyes narrowing to slits as she reached out and took her partner's hand. The contact surprisingly pleasant, if a bit sweaty. "So adept that, even without any formal training, he was marked out by our Headmaster as someone to look out for in our year." She replied coolly and confidently, despite refusing to look at her friend's face for fear he'd see her flushed cheeks. "A man recognized as one of, if not _the,_ greatest Huntsmen on the face of Remnant today and expects great things from Jaune, regardless of what some might consider shortcomings."

A boy who was swiftly growing into a fair Leader in his own right, both tactically and personally. Who was making every effort to exceed the expectations all set on him, even her own lofty aspirations.

"So you would consider him a worthy partner, even for one of your status? Worthy of one such as you?"

"Absolutely, he's wonderful and his potential is boundless. Everything I could've hoped for." She said a nod too hastily, pulling her hand from Jaune's before he felt her heart skip beneath her breast. "Why, I'd even wager given time he'd easily be able to attain whatever standards you'd set."

She hadn't meant to word it quite so much like a challenge, intending only more praise. And how could she not, the look of sheer joy and confidence playing across Jaune's face at the corner of her vision was absolutely priceless. Would that he looked like that all the time...

But it did ring of a challenge, one she noticed all too quickly the Scion mulling over. Delicate fingers tracing a narrowed chin, eyes flashing almost wickedly in her sockets.

"Truly? Why, I suppose he is comely enough. A rather rustic appeal, and assuming reasonable fitness..." Calculation swirled behind that gaze, one falling across portions of her friend's figure that she wasn't quite so sure she found comfort with. Jaune too busy preening to notice much of the context. "...and his reflexes, from the start of the year would be...weeks, scant months? You've trained him to a reasonable standard in so short a time? To face such beastlings in personal combat, an impressive if true."

"I...I mean it wasn't really so...?"

"Oh c'mon, partner, don't be so modest. You bet it's true, Miss Stahl." Jaune brought his hand to her shoulder, the Mistrali practically jumping in her seat now. Very much aware of the warmth... "Let me tell ya, I was absolutely hopeless before she started teaching me. Remember, Pyrrha? Could barely take a swing without tripping over myself. Now I could probably take on a few Beowolves all on my own."

"Jaune, I-I wouldn't be so..." Pyrrha squeaked as her partner launched into an imitation of one of the more advanced forms she'd been teaching him this past week, biting her lip at the discerning nod the Knight offered where others might have laughed. Her focus fixed on how he moved, the exertion of muscle, how he breathed...a consummate professional gauging a promising novice.

Only then why didn't it quite feel like such. More it was almost an appraisal, like Jaune was some kind of stock for...for...oh sweet gods...

"Might I test him, then?" It took a second to process the question, far longer for Pyrrha's malfunctioning brain to work through the shock and begin to process what had just been asked of her. In that time the Imperial Noble had eased forward in her seat, nibbling at the edges of a thumbnail pensively. "Though I wonder, such a tiny thing...is his stamina sufficient?"

"I-I don't...that's not...you can't be...!?" How...What...Where...Why...? Was this happening? Was _this_ really happening? What kind of place was the Imperium where people could so boldly...!?

"Yeah, I can hold my own you bet, no worries!" Insinuation completely drifted over the blonde leader's grinning head as he flexed and clapped a swelling bicep. One the Huntress knew for a fact he was rather proud of and certainly hadn't been present upon his arrival at Beacon. Silly enough to make her smile... "Always manage to get back up! Professor Goodwitch even says its my best quality and she works us all to the bone!"

 _'Wait...what?'_

"The Blonde Witch vouches then, hmm...impressive. I'd not have expected." Vivian replied with genuine appreciation and perhaps a smidgen of raw disbelief, looking Pyrrha's partner over in a new light. A far more predatory one. "Perhaps you truly are worthwhile after all, Huntsman. Well-trained at that."

"You bet! Improving every night, at least according to my brilliant teacher over here!." He looked to Pyrrha for support, frowning at the look she returned. "What? That's what you said, wasn't? Though I guess you still had me pinned on the ground after all...seriously, what's with the look, did I say something weird?"

"If it is more to your preference, my Lady, I would be more than accommodating if you wished to join us and partake."

The young Noble affected an elaborate curtsy. Delicate yet strong, graceful in submission, yet still bring with a martial pride that seemed to uplift her all the while. It was pride alongside no small amount of arrogance, and it was admittedly quite beautiful.

Pyrrha might have been more impressed were steam not practically hissing from her ears, shocked to stunned awe at the other woman's boldness. How easy it was...especially given she was...what Propositioning her partner? Propositioning her?

"Do let it not be said that the sires of House Stahl of Ambria were unbecoming to the generous desires of one's hosts. Tradition and long held protocol of course deal rather broadly in such matters."

What sort of traditions? What sort of place was this 'Ambria'? Pyrrha wasn't sure she wanted to know, if not entirely sure she didn't...no, no this was wrong!?

"Well we wouldn't want to go trampling on tradition." Jaune noted gravely with a respectful nod, heeding Professor Goodwitch's advice on such matters. Taking everything so seriously...so seriously he was missing a few crucial details she suspected, she hoped. I mean he couldn't actually think... "I bet it'd be great idea, don't you think, Pyrrha? We could certainly use the experience...er, Pyrrha?"

" _JAAAAUNE_!"

* * *

 _ **\- END**_

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey all, took me long enough with this chapter and still no Astartes or Flesh Tearers, definitely something I'll be correcting when I finally get around to releasing the next chapter. Wanted to focus more on the Imperial side of things, namely their faith and a glimpse of how the girls (namely Blake) viewed it because as most would agree its probably pretty important to the Guards character going forward,**_

 _ **Would also like to thank everyone reading for the surprising amount of support this story has picked up even in this long break between chapters, which I do apologize for. Real life takes priority and I've since been working on a few ideas for stand alone novella-style shorts set in purely on the Warhammer side of things that I've been piecing together bit by bit. Done RWBY stories, done RWBY Warhammer Crossovers, only fair.**_

 _ **No long narratives or connected storytelling (yet) though who knows going forward, its a fun universe and I'm happy to throw my hat in on some of the less established stuff. (Aspirant Trials, blurbs on lore, maybe even a bit of my own stuff)**_

 _ **All of which I'd very much appreciate any feedback y'all might have regarding, including this story which sprang from excitement and grew pretty dang big world-building wise all things considered.**_

 _ **Anyway, hope to update again soon and I'll keep everyone posted on any other projects I might have going in the future. - Mojo**_


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